
Class __£L< WIS.. 

Book. »^^ 

Copyright N" 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



TREASURES OF POETRY 

Being 

An Extensive Collection from the Best Productions 

OF 

POETRY AND SONG 



Representing 

A Wide Range of Authors 

and Containing 

Poems of the Home Circle, Narratives, Beauties 

of Nature, Poems of Sentiment and Reflection, of 

Sorrow and Bereavement, of Childhood and Youth, 

etc. , etc. , 



and a large Department of 

POEMS RELATING TO RELIGION AND THE SPIRITUAL LIFE. 



Compiled and Edited 

by 

A. L. BYERS and EVA R. JOHNSON. 



GOSPEL TRUMPET COMPANY 

Anderson, Indiana 



,3t 



Copyright, 1913 

by 

Gospel Trumpet Company. 



'^ ^ (^ t 




INTRODUCTION 



I HE Encyclopedia Britannica defines absolute Poetry as' the concrete and 
artistic expression of the human mind in emotional and rhythmical 
language. No literary expression can, properly speaking, be called 
Poetry that is not in a certain deep sense emotional (whatever may 
be its subject-matter), concrete in its method and its diction, rhythmical in move- 
ment, and artistic in form. 

It is said that Poetry comes from the heart, while Prose is merely the product 
of the mind; that the poet sings to us, whereas other men only talk; and that 
while he does not argue more logically than they, he feels more deeply and per- 
haps more truly. 

Poetry has been called the twin-sister of Music. The alliance between the 
two is said to be of very ancient date and originally to have been constant. 
Whether the emotions of the heart broke forth in praises to the gods and heroes, 
or in the triumphal strains of happiness and victory, or yet in the lamenta- 
tions of affliction and defeat, thej' were sung in measure to the sound of rude 
instruments. But when Poetry began to express a wider range of sentiment, it 
was found that the accompaniment of music was often inconvenient, and thus 
there was substituted the form of recitation more approaching to common speech. 

As an explanation of how Poetry differs from Prose and also of its relation 
to Music, the following is quoted from a writer on the subject: 

"A little consideration will lead to the conclusion that verse, in most lan- 
guages, differs from prose in the return of a certain number of syllables that 
have a peculiar relation to one another as accented and unaccented, or as long 
and short. It is universally felt that a degree of pleasure arises from this 
definite arrangement, and the origin of that pleasure is to be traced back to the 
sense of time with which men are generally endowed. It is this principle that 
regulates the step of a man, or the stroke of an oar; and hence the pleasure 
we experience in beholding the regular step of a company of soldiers in their 
march, and the simultaneous sweep of the oars of a well-manned boat. The 
time of music, apart from tune, is evidently related to the movement to which 
we have now referred, and can accordingly be regulated by the properly measured, 
though monotonous, sound of the drum. The next process was to bring language 
into conformity with the music thus produced, and the result was verse — a 
measured or metrical line. As these results, therefore, flow from innate principles 
of our constitution, so, in looking as far back along the history of man as our 
materials enable us, we find him accompanied with music and verse; for the 
rude cadence of his song or the movement of his dance is ever accompanied by 
the tap of the drum. 

"In the Bible, the most ancient of records, we find man, at a very early 
period, forming both wind and stringed instruments, modulating his speech into 
verse, and exhibiting in the very earliest instance on record that peculiar 
parallelism that characterized the Hebrew poetry of all subsequent ages." 

As an expression of imaginative feeling, as the movement of an energy, as 
one of those great primal human forces which go to the development of the race. 
Poetry in the wide sense has played an important part. 

Bryant says, in his remarks about English Poetry: "I have known persons 
who frankly said that they took no pleasure in reading poetry, and perhaps the 
number of those who make this admission would be greater were it not for the 
fear of appearing singular. But to the great mass of mankind, Poetry is really 
a delight and a refreshment. To many, perhaps to most, it is not requisite that 
it should be of the highest degree of merit. Nor, although it be ttue that the 



INTRODUCTION. 



poems whieli are most famous and most highly prized are works of considerable 
length, can it be said that the pleasure they give is in any degree proportionate 
to the extent of their plan. It seems to me that it is only poems of a moderate 
length or else portions of the greater works to which I refer, that produce tlie 
effect upon the mind and heart which make the charm of this kind of writing. 
The proper office 'of poetry, in filling the mind with delightful images and awaken- 
ing tlie gentler emotions, is not accomplished on a first and rapid perusal, but re- 
quires that the words should be dwelt upon until they become in a certain sense 
our own, and are adopted as the utterance of our own minds." 

Wliile many excellent collections of poems have already been placed before the 
public, there seemed to be justifiable reasons for this one. An extensive depart- 
ment of religious poems combined with a large variety of non-religious produc- 
tions is the feature of this collection. It was the intention of the editors that 
by the omission of such compositions as are light and frivolous the collection 
should have a good spiritual tone, one that should evoke love and veneration 
to God as well as afford delight in the beautiful. 

In addition to the foregoing plea for the appearance of this volume^ it might 
be said that there are many excellent poems, produced in the last few years, that 
have probably not as yet found their way into a collection of this sort. Finally, 
there is that interest which always characterizes a new arrangement. 

It is hoped that this collection is sufficiently extensive that the reader will 
not feel greatly disappointed if there proves to be wanting some particular 
poem of his fanc}^ It is imjDossible, of course, in a volume of moderate size to 
include every poem of merit or to satisfy every mind with regard to what should 
or should not be included ; but it will be a source of gratification to the editors if 
the result of their efforts hereby expressed may at least be pronounced good and 
be found to have contributed to the moral or spiritual elevation of humanity. 



CONTENTS 

Index of Authors 7 

The Home Circle _ - 21 

Memories of Home 41 

Narrative and Descriptive _ • 51 

Love and Friendship - 73 

Nature Poems _ — 93 

Sea Pictures 121 

Months and Seasons - 126 

Patriotism, Freedom, Heroism _ .?. 139 

Sentiment and Reflection 159 

Life, Time, Anticipation 226 

Woman's Sphere and Influence _ 253 

Labor and Rural Life - 250 

Temperance and Reform 273 

Sorrow, Bereavement, Death - 287 

Persons and Places 317 

Poems of Religion _ 379 

God, Adoration _ 400 

Christian Experience 413 

Exhortation 4S2 

Encouragement, Comfort 441 

Christian Graces 470 

The Church 481 

Supplication, Prayer 485 

Submission, Consecration, Trust 496 

Heaven, Immortality 506 

Meditation 517 

Christian Work, Missionary 523 

Expostulation, Warning. Penitence 542 

Childhood and Youtli _ 549 

Poetical Curiosities _ 579 

Index of First Lines 591 

Index of Titles _ 599 



INDEX OF AUTHORS 



Some of the poems in this book were selected from periodicals which did not 
ascribe any authorship, the editors using merely the word "selected." These along 
with those poems which are genuinely anonymous, make up the great number which 
appear without the author's name, and which are therefore classed as anonymous in 
the indexes. 



ABEY, ANNIE M. 

Look Away 464 

Baptism, The 397 

ADDISON, JOSEPH. 

God's Works Declare His Greatness 401 

ALDRICH, MRS. JULIA C. 

Yosemite 120 

ALEXANDER. ADDISON. 

Monosyllable Poem, A 586 

ALEXANDER. MRS. C. F. 

Burial o£ Moses, The 53 

ALLANSON, E. G. 

God's Language 117 

ALLEN. ELIZABETH AKERS. 

Endurance 206 

Every Day .". 171 

Finding Fault 207 

Kisses 78 

Rock Me to Sleep 245 

ALLEN. JAMES. 

Before the Cross 430 

ALLEN, S. C. 

Who of Us? 224 

ANDERSON, J. GRANT. 

God Knoweth Best 497 

Life or Death 346 

The Love of God 351 

Too Late 544 

ARNOLD, EDWIN. 

Woman's Voice 257 

ARNOLD. GEORGE. 

.September 133 

ASHABRANNER. J. H. 

Mutability 226 

Song of Summer-time 131 

ASHENFELTER. MABEL. 

Footmen and Horses 433 

AURIN, EMIL CARL. 

Hard Luck 175 

AUSTIN. ALFRED. 

Is Life Worth Living? 230 

AUSTIN. R. L. 

End will Tell, The 216 

There is a God 410 

What Is Peace? 479 

B 
BAILEY, MRS. MATTIE L. 

Mara 457 

BAILEY, PHILIP JAMES. 

Aim of Life, The 227 

BAILEY, T. L. 

What is Life? 216 

BANKS, G. LINNAEUS. 

What I Live For 234 

BANTA. MRS. MELISSA E. 

Parting Words 87 

BARKER, DAVID. 

Make Your Mark. 570 

BARR. MARY A. 

Loved too Late 312 

BARRETT, C. D. 

Seasons, The 127 



BARRETT, MYBA T. 

Christ is Bora. 527 

BARTON, BERNARD. 

To a Grandmother 27 

BATES, DAVID. 

S|}eak Gently 163 

BAXTER, WILLIAM. 

Day by the Sea, A 121 

Immortality 615 

BEATTY, PAKENHAM. 

To Thine Own Self be True 200 

BEDFORD, MRS. LOU. S. 

Evening Time Best 227 

BEETS. MAHY F. 

Sing Me a Song, Sweet Birds 108 

BENEDICT, HESTER A. 

Only a Woman 284 

BENJAMIN, PARK. 

Press On 225 

Sexton, The 312 

BERGHOUSE, NETTIE L. 

Beneath the Surface 203 

BEST. EVA. 

Every Day 268 

BIXLER, W. A. 

Beautiful 103 

Child's Victory, A 577 

Evening Prayer 552 

BLAIR. ROBERT. 

Death of the Good Man 511 

BLAND. ROBERT. 

Hume 23 

BOLITHO, AXCHIE A. 

Church of God, Awake! 536 

BONAR, HORATIUS. 

Christian Conflict 432 

Everlasting Memorial, The 541 

How to Live 242 

1 will Fear no Evil 500 

Life from Death 512 

Lucy 294 

Master's Touch. The 505 

New Jerusalem. The 483 

Nun's Lament, The 360 

Remembered 537 

Still with Me 490 

BOTTOME, FRANK. 

Oh, Sing of His Mighty Love 425 

BOWRINO. DR. JOHN. 

God (Translation) 400 

God Is Love 405 

BOXELL. JOHN WILLIAM. 

Christian Mother. The 256 

BRACKEN, THOMAS. 

Not Understood 179 

BRAINARD, JOHN G. C. 

Falls of Niagara. The 100 

BRAINARD. MRS. MARY G. 

God Knoweth B02 

BRANAM. JAMES B. 

Course of the World, The ' S48 

Do not Complain 466 

God Is Love 341 

My Treasure 424 

Prayer , 492 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



BRANCH, MARY BOLLES. 

PetriBed Fern, The 118 

BRINE. MARY D. 

Home Concert, Tbe 35 

BRININSTOOL, E. A. 

Riches 552 

BRONAUGH, GRACE PEARL. 

Lesson of the Rose, The 185 

BROOKS. CLARA >L 

All the Way 501 

Bride of Christ, The 484 

"Give Ye Them to Eat" 524 

He Cares for All 571 

His Way 485 

"How are the Mighty Fallen?" 432 

Jesus Alone 417 

Life's Fleeting Day 331 

Life's M.vstery 239 

O Loye Divine 350 

Sweet Hour of Prayer 491 

Thy Will be Done 340 

'Tis so Sweet 428 

What Shall We Wish? 540 

BROOKS, EDWARD. 

Be a Woman 255 

BROOKS, FRED EMERSON. 

.Miracle of Cana, The 346 

BROOMFIELD. JAMBS P. 

Toil's Grandeur 265 

BR<1THERS0N, PRANCES B. M. 

Forgiveness 437 

BROWN, MORTIMER CRANE. 

Autumn Dreams 136 

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT. 

Bereavement 310 

Consolation 314 

Cry of the Children. The 280 

Out in the Fields with God 97 

I'rosiiect. Tbe 515 

Woman's Questiou, A 76 

BRYANT, JOHN H. 

Winter 130 

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLBN. 

Anticipations 24-1 

Antiquity of Freedom. The 144 

Blessed are They that Mourn 313 

Death of the Flowers, The 100 

Evenini: Wind, The 102 

Flood of Years, The 229 

Forest Hymn, A 113 

June 130 

March 128 

Past, Tbe 229 

Planting of the Apple-tree, The 108 

ReBections on a Battle-field 142 

Robert of Lincoln 114 

Summer Evening 131 

Thanatoiisis 247 

To a Water Fowl Ill 

Winds. The 119 

BUELL, HATTIE E. 

Child of a King, The 418 

BI'GBEE, EMILY J. 

Book of the New Year, Tbe 576 

BUNYAN, JOHN. 

Song 341 

BURLEIGH, WILLIAM H. 

Diath of a Young Girl. The 304 

BT'RNS, ROBERT. 

Afton Water 89 

Hanks O'Doon. The 320 

Highland Mary 309 

BfRROUGHS, JOHN. 

Spring 127 

BFTI^ER. WILLJAM ALLEN. 

Garden of the Gods. The 324 

BI'TTERWORTH, HEZEKIAH. 

Bird with the Broken Wing, Tbe 2S4 

BYERS. J. Vf. 

Face This Sad World with a Smile 446 

My Mother's Prayers 336 



BYERS. S. H. M. 

To a Battleship 150 

BYRON, LORD. 

Destruction of the Assyrians 57 

Ocean. The 125 

Storm at Night on Lake Leman 102 

BYRUM, ISABEL C. 

Beauty is not Purity 196 

Sweet Story of tbe Angels 407 

Thoughts for tbe New Year 450 

C 

CALDWELL, ADELBERT F. 

Best Life, The 175 

CAMPBELL, THOMAS. 

Elijah's Interview 377 

Immortal Life, The 506 

CARLETON, ADA. 

Selling the Baby 567 

CARLETON, WILL. 

Apple-blossoms 7U 

Burning of Chicago, The 71 

Convict's Christmas Eve, The 278 

Cover Them Over 148 

First Settler's Story, The iSl 

CARLYLE, THOMAS. 

Today 170 

CARMICH.4EL. T. W. 

To Be or not to Be 238 

CARY. ALICE. 

Dying li.vmn, A _ 515 

Forest, The 98 

Take Care !?64 

Three Bugs 563 

CART, PHOEBE. 

Bearing Life's Burdens 333 

Just Suppose These Thini^s 559 

Nearer Home 518 

Thanksgiving 45 

CARTER. J. P. 

Service Sweet. A 420 

CASE. LIZZIE YORK. 

Faith and Reason 395 

CAWOOD. JOHN. 

Hark; Those Holy Voices 409 

CHAPIN, SYLVIA. 

Prayer, A 490 

CHAUCEK, GOEFPREY. 

Good Counsail 587 

CHAOTB. ISAAC BASSETT. 

Our Country's Dead 149 

CLARK, EUGENE E. 

Alone 79 

CLARK. JAMES G. 

Evergreen Mountains of Life, The 507 

CLARK. SUSIE R. G. 

People's Poet, The 324 

CLARK. WILLIS G. 

Signs of God, The 408 

CLAWSON, ALICE. 

Influence 214 

COBB. HENRY N. 

"Father, Take .My Hand" 4(12 

Gracious Answer, The 462 

COBBRN, E. CRAFT. 

Look Up 437 

COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. 

Hope 481 

November 134 

COOK. CLARENCE. 

Abram and Zimri 59 

COOK, ELIZA. 

Building upon tbe Sand 222 

Home in tbe Heart, A 24 

Old Arm Chair, The 48 

Washington 145 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



COOK. MRS. W. A. M. 

LorU will ProTide, The 453 

COOLIDGE. SUSAN. 

Ebh and Flow 416 

When ? ~ 332 

COPLIN, G. Q. 

Verses on the Twenty-third Psalm 430 

CORNWALL. BARRY. 

Address to the Ocean 125 

COSTON, EMMA I. 

Blessing from Heaven 485 

Diligence 437 

Precious Gem. A 478 

Yet not Forsaken 532 

COWPER. WILLIAM. 

Exhortation to Prayer 460 

Freeman. The 14.'i 

God's Mysterious Way 455 

Grace and Providence 404 

Humanity 235 

Joy and Peace in Believing 425 

Martyred Heroes 340 

My Mother's Picture 303 

Principle Put to the Test 5GS 

COX, c. c. 

Silent Shades of Evening 247 

CRABBE. GEORGE. 

Practical Charity 476 

CRAIK. MARIA MDLOCK. 

Grandpapa 29 

CRANCH. CHRISTOPHER PEARSE. 

Thought 217 

CRAWFORD, MRS. M. J. E. 

Bridal Song, The 89 

Child's Last Smile, The 309 

Death, The 314 

Gone 307 

Jesus 343 

March Winds 127 

Mother to Her Dying Child. A 316 

My Soldier Love 26 

My Work 501 

She is not Dead but Sleepeth .307 

Summer Twilight 131 

Sunset and Twilight 100 

Sunset Thought of Heaven, A 513 

Thoughts 169 

CROSBY, FANNIE J. 

All the Way My Savior Leads Me 417 

Rescue the Perishing 537 

Will Jesus Find Us Watching? _ 434 

CROSBY, ELIZABETH M. 

Temperance Plea, A 283 

CURRIE, CHARLES. 

Dying Christian, The 516 

CUTTER, MISS A. 

Four Wishes. The 204 

CUTTER. GEORGE W. 

Song of Steam, The 267 

D 

DANA, MARY S. B. 

Passing under the Rod 384 

DANA. RICHARD HENRY. 

Immortality 514 

Soul, The 354 

DAVIDSON, GAYLORD. 

Mother is Dead 293 

DAVIS, P. B. 

Only a Moment 246 

DAVIS, THOMAS. 

Little Things 161 

DAWES. RUFUS. 

Mozart's Requiem 29S 

DAYRE. SYDNEY. 

Good Thing to Do. A 577 

DEAN OP CANTERBURY. 

Life's Answer 416 

DECK, J. G. 

"My Beloved" 403 



DE LEVIS, M. M. 

Influence ^^^ 

DERZHAVEN. 

God. (Translation by Dr. John Bowring. 1.... 400 
DE VERB, SIR AUBREY. 

Misspent Time 1^® 

DEMAREST, MRS. MARY LEE. 

My Ain Countrie 507 

DEMING, MRS. H. A. 

Life 583 

DEWEY, C. H. 

Evening Light '^^7 

True Hero, A 557 

DICKENS. CH.\RLES. 

Things that Never Die 210 

DICKENSON. CHARLES. 

Children, The ! 551 

DOANE. GEORGE W. 

"Stand Like an Anvil" 168 

DOANE. W. C. 

Sculptor-boy, The. 233 

DODGE. MARY MAPES. 

My Window Ivy 428 

DORR. JULIA 0. R. 

Outgrown 84 

DOWD, EMMA C. 

Out of the Way 277 

DRAKE. JOSEPH RODMAN. 

American Flag, The 146 

DUMONT. HENRY. 

Without You 84 

DUNROY, WILLIAM REED. 

Wind of the West 100 

DURYEA. WILLIAM RANKIN. 

Song tor the Hearth and Home, A 31 

E 

EARLE, MABLE. 

Life Garden. A 521 

EDWARDS, MATILD.i C. 

Church Walking with the World, The 372 

EGBRMEIER, ELSIE E. 

Letter in Rhyme, A 323 

Sunset on the Blackhawk 105 

Winter's Charms 137 

EDISON. A. J. 

No Children's Graves in China 538 

ELLIOTT, EBENEZER. 

Spring 127 

ELLIOTT. GEORGE. 

Two Lovers 234 

ELLIOTT, GEORGIA C. 

Blessed Nation, The 427 

God's Care 513 

His Letters 311 

Present Salvation 415 

There's a Way 419 

Twenty-third Psalm 424 

ELLSWORTH. W. W. 

Nightfall - 119 

EMERSON. RALPH WALDO. 

Mountain and the Squirrel. Tlio- - - 559 
Snow-storm, The 101 

EVE. MARIA L. 

Conquered at Last 186 

EVERETT. ALEXANDER HILL. 

Young American. The....- 141 

EVERETT. JOHN W. 

Reflections "9 

EYTINGE, MARGARET. 

Her Name the Countersign 78 

P 

FABEH. FREDERICK WILLIAM. 

His Sweet Will 414 

Right Must Win, The 538 



10 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



FANNINGTON. MARIANNE. 

My Neighbor's Boy 576 

FAWCETT, JOHN. 

Blest be the Tie that Binds 427 

FERGUSON. G. G. 

Eoyal Gorge, The 324 

FIELD, EUGENE. 

Good-by, God Bless You 164 

In the Firelight 47 

FIELD, W. T. 

Strength 279 

FINCH, P. M. 

Blue and the Gray, The 156 

FINCH, MARY BAIRD. 

Arcana of Nature, The 115 

To a Mountain Bluebell 11" 

FINLEY, SAMUEL. 

Christmas 232 

Where? Oh! Where? 83 

FISHER, C. E. 

Words that Pain 577 

FLEMING. PAUL. 

To Myself 438 

FLINT. AMOS E. 

Promised Land. The 507 

"Tis 1 ; be Not Afraid" 461 

FLORY. GERTRUDE A. 

Tell Your Mother that You Love Her 651 

FOSS, S. W. 

Inkstand Bottle, The 284 

FOWLER, ELLEN T. 

Longest Day. The 83 

FRENAU. PHILIP. 

May to April 129 

FULTON. A. R. 

Anthracite 112 

It We Could Know 165 

Unwritten Song. The 165 

a 

GAGE. FRANCIS DANA. 

Home Picture. A 263 

GALLAGHER, WILLIAM D. 

Truth and Freedom 108 

GAMMONS, SUSAN E. 

Old Year Memories 201 

GARDNER, MRS. H. C. 

Real. The 463 

GARFIELD. JAMES ABRAM. 

Memory 171 

What I Would Ask for Thee 357 

GATES. ELLEN M. H. 

Your Mission 267 

GEARY. EUGENE. 

Death of Nathan Hale, The 154 

GEIL. H. R. 

To a Streamlet 99 

GERGEN, MATTIE. 

Behind the Scenes 225 

English Student's Experience, An 361 

First Shall be Last; the Last, First, The 393 

Jesus Pleads 542 

Safe in Jesus 424 

Save, Lord, or We Perish 345 

Seek and Ye Shall Find 547 

GILDER. RICHARD W. 

Dawn 106 

GILDERSLEEVE. A. B. 

On the Old Camp Ground 342 

GILLILAN, STRICKLAND W. 

Walking on the Wall 486 

GILMORE, J. H. 

He Leadeth Me *23 

GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. 

Deserted Village, The 65 

GOOD, JOHN MASON. 

"Not Worlds on Worlds" 413 

GORDON. S. B. 

ForglTe and Forget 193 



GOULD, e. P. 

Name in the Sand, A 519 

GRAHAME, JAMES. 

Sabbath, The 264 

GRANT, SIR ROBERT. 

Blessed Is the Man Whom Thou Chasteneth 35S 

GRAY, THOMAS. 

Elegy in a Country Churchyard 237 

GREEN, ANNA D. 

Puritan Lovers, The 76 

GRIGG, JOSEPH. 

Ashamed of Jesus ! 405 

GUYON, MADAME. 

At Home in God 414 

Simple Trust 426 

K 
HAFPORD, MRS. EMILY H. 

Earth - 235 

Evening Thoughts 620 

HAFFORD. P. S. 
Only a Child 656 

HALE, WILL T. 

Don't Forget the Old Folks 36 

HALLAM, ARTHUR HENRY. 

Mother's Influence, A 256 

HARDY, LIZZIE CLARK. 

Cry of the Mother. The 40 

We Call Them Dead 289 

HASTINGS, THOMAS. 

Lord is Risen. The 385 

HAVERGAL. FRANCES RIDLEY. 

Another Year 490 

Be Not Weary 465 

Church of God. The 482 

Christmas Gifts 339 

Daily Strength 462 

Disapiiointment 459 

Faithful Promises 433 

Fresh Springs 455 

God the Provider 467 

He Hath Done It 421 

Hope 445 

I Could Not do Without Thee 494 

I Gave My Life tor Thee 399 

Infinity of God, The 402 

Light and Shade 450 

Lord Speak to Me 526 

Making Poetry 178 

Matthew XIV : XXIII 383 

Matthew XXVI ; XXX 378 

Ministry of Song. The 539 

Not Yet :. 380 

Not Your Own 386 

Nothing to Pay ! 545 

Remote Results 469 

Secret of a Happy Day, The 441 

Seed of Song, The 536 

Seeing Heart, A 328 

"Tempted and Tried" 466 

Thanksgiving 409 

"Things Which Are Behind, The" 468 

This Same Jesus 404 

"Vessels of Mercy, Prepared unto Glory" 528 

HAWORTH, MRS. 

Holy Spirit, The 357 

HAY, JOHN. 

Blind Man's Testimony. The 349 

HATES, CORA WALKER. 

Christ-Child, The 359 

HATNE, PAUL HAMILTON. 

Deathless Heart. The 157 

Parmer's Wife. The 266 

Praying tor Shoes 559 

HAZELTINB, WALTER M. 
Ho I Bonny Boy 574 

HEARN, MARIANNE. 
Waiting and Watching for Me 506 

HEBER, REGINALD. 

Christmas Hymn, A 396 





INDEX OF 


AUTHORS. 


11 


Gone to the Grave 


297 


I 




Misslooary Hymn 


538 


I^uALLS, JOHN J. 




HELPHINGSTINB. MART J. 




Opportunity 


197 


Autumn 


B72 


INGELOW, JEAN. 




I am Glad 


431 


Castaway, The 


282 


HE.MANS, FELICIA DOROTHEA. 




IRISH FACTORY GIRL. 




Graves of a Household. The 


311 


God's Forge tfulness 


336 


Hour of Death. The 


292 






Mother's Love. A 


253 


J 




Wreck and Death at Sea, A 


289 


JACKSON, HELEN HUNT. 




HENDERSON, MRS. ANNA E. 




"Not as I Will" 


B04 


Child's Fancy, A 


181 


October's Bright Blue Weather 


133 


Garner the Beautiful 


209 


JAMES, MARY D. 




HENRY, W. J. 




Sweetly Resting „ 


423 


Love of God, The 


420 


JAQUES. MBS. D. 




Only a Little While 


206 


Calvary 


434 


Present Experience 




To -My Departed Father 


294 


HERBERT. GEORGE. 




JARVIS, MRS. A. P. 




Altar. The 

Easter Wings 


583 


Through Nature to God 


521 




170 


JEFFREY, ROSA VERTNER. 




HERRICK, ROBERT. 




Angel Watchers 


298 


Country Life. The 


269 


JENNER, EDWARD, 




HERVEY, THOMAS KIBBLE. 




Signs of Rain 


583 




77 


JENYNS, SOAME. 




BERWICK, CLINTON A. 




Unending Life on Earth Undesirable 


228 


Autumn 


13B 


JONES. EMMA. 




Now is the Accepted Time 

HIGGINSON, ELLA. 






403 




JUDSON. EMILY C. 




Sunset on Puget Sound 

HILL, GEORGE. 




Tribute, A 


541 




K 




Fall of the Oak, The 


107 








KEATS. JOHN. 




HILLTER, SHALER G. 
Life's Paradox 


180 


Selection from Endymion 

KEITH. GEORGE. 


19S 


HOBABT, MRS. CHARLES. 




How Firm n Fniindfltinn 


454 


Changed Cross, The 


497 


KENT, A, F. 




HOGAN, KATE. 




Kneel at No Human Shrine 


250 


Thy Mother 




KENT. WILLIS WARREN. 




HOLDER. PHEBE A. 






577 


Hour with Whlttier, An 


325 


KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT. 




HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT. 




Star Spangled Banner, The 


142 


Babyhood 


30 






Gradation 


242 


KIDDER. MRS. M. A. 








Cherish Kindly Feelings 


563 


HOLM. SAXE. 




Home Life 


40 


God's Love 


393 


Mother's Mending Basket 


28 


HOLMES, A. L. 




What Became of a Lie 


568 


Wait 


218 


KINNEY. COATES. 




HOLMES. OLIVER WENDELL. 




Rain on the Roof 


41 


Chambered Nautilus, The 


123 


KINNEY. MRS. ELIZABETH C. 




Hymn of Trust 


422 

104 

145 


Which Shall Go ? 


303 


Living Temple, The 

Old I ronsides 


KIPLING, RUDYARD. 

If We Knew 


tS.1 




297 




147 


Nameless Dead, The 


KNOWLES, HERBERT. 




Song of the Shirt, The 


270 


Written in Richmond Church-yard, Yorkshire. 


231 


HOPPER, EDWARD. 




KNOWLES. J. S. 




Savior, Pilot Me 


495 






HOWE, MARY E. 


KNOX, WILLIAM. 




Gems ..; 


124 


Oh! Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be 








Proud? „ 


249 


HOWELL. ELIZABETH LLOYD. 
Blind Old Milton. The 


351 


KRODT. MARY H. 

Little Brown Hands 


270 


HOWLAND. MRS. B. S. 








Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.. 


566 


la 




HOTT, B. 0. 

Who Are Wise? 


332 


LACOSTE, MARIE R. 

Somebody's Darling 


155 


HOYT, RALPH. 
Old Man by the Wayside. The... 


43 


LACKEY. MARGARET M'RAE. 

Only a Baby's Grave 

LAMONT. ALEXANDER. 


293 


HUBBARD. MRS. ANNA M. 




Round of Life, The 


231 


Into all the World 


536 


LAMPERTUS. 




HUNNEX. GLORIA G. 




German Trust Song. A 


500 


Strength t3. Fainting 


454 


LANIGAN. G. T. 




HUNT, LEIGH. 




Millionaire and Barefoot Boy 


562 


May _ 


12» 


LARCOM. LUCY. 




„ 291 




513 


HUTT, FRANK WALCOTT. 


Shared 


222 


At a Mother's Grave 


Sunbeam, The 


■'i6« 


Indecision 


171 


Thanksgiving, A 


407 



12 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



LARIMORB, T. B. 

Love and I'vt Mc Now 187 

LAVELy, H. A. 

Heart's Choice. Tbe 217 

October !!"!!!!!!™ 134 

LAWRENCE, JONATHAN. 

Look Aloft 457 

LB GRANDE. MRS. MARGARET. 

Mother's Love, A 256 

LEE. HARRLSON. 

PI"'^" 178 

LEONARD. PRISCILLA. 

Lesson of Content, The 161 

LEWI.S. LUCY M. 

Cherished Memories 42 

Consolation ! :r!.."."."7![ 458 

LEWIS. I. L. 

Lesson, A Ida 

UNDESAY, MARIA R. 

Christ's Humanity 4n2 

LINN, NELLIE. 

Wanted 273 

LINN, O. F. 

Breakers are Ahead. The 540 

Content to Go or Stay 322 

God Wants Your All 440 

Man's Fall " ^^^q 

Onl.v a Few Short Years 518 

Sinner's Doom. The 34I 

Sunset """"" 9g 

Where are the Dead? 506 

LIPPINCOTT, MARTHA SHEPAKD. 

Sunshine Beyond 162 

LITTLEDALE, RICHARD F. 

Another Year 334 

LONGFELLOW. HENRY WADSWORTH. 

Arrow and the Song. The 190 

Autumn l;j,5 

Bridge. The ."..."...!!.. 2:j4 

Builders, The !!."'!!!".." 241 

Children '''''[ 5^;;) 

Children's Hour. The ^!".Z!!!! 503 

Day is Done. The It .,,. 169 

Evening on the River. ...\] 49 

God's Acre 220 

fiOWCTS 'ZZZ'ZZZ 103 

I-ootsteps of Angels 246 

Home Song 3I 

Hymn of the Night !"!!!"!""!.!"!!! 101 

Ladder of St. Augustine. The !"!!!!!!"!! 233 

Slaidenhood " 553 

My Lost Youth 1.!!.".."!." 40 

Paul Reveres Ride I53 

Primeval Forest, The 107 

Psalm of Life. A ".""!!!! 232 

Rainy Day. The !!.!!!!!"!!" 174 

Reaper and the Flowers, The ."!!!!!1!."!! 304 

Resignation 295 

Sounil of the Sea. The "!"!!!"!"" 123 

.Spirit of Poetr.v. The 168 

Village Blacksmith. The .'. 20G 

LOWELL. JA.MES RUS.SELL. 

Changeling. The 1 93 

Heritage. The '] 2C9 

Heroism '" i.-^j 

June i.ZZ~Z!!:ZZ!Z 130 

Sonnets 75 

Stanzas on Freedom 147 

To the Dandelion 107 

Willing Slaves. The Z!!!!l!!! 284 

LUKE, MRS. JEMIMA. 

Let the Little Ones Come Unto Me 065 

LYDICK, EDWARD N. 

Winter Hours ,'572 

LYSTER. FRED. 

What is Life? 190 

LYTE. HENRY FRANCIS. 

Ahide with Me .' 491 

Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken 487 

Rest in Jesus 4I8 

M 

MACKAY. CHARLES. 

Clear the Way 2S5 

Inquiry, The 228 



Small Beginnings 194 

Working Man's Song 262 



MACKAY. MRS. MARGARET. 
Asleep in Jesus 



510 



.MALONE, EVA WILLIAMS. 

God's • Answer 



MALONE. WALTER. 

Opportunity 199 

MARCH, DANIEL. 

Your Mission 530 

MARCHIONESS DE SPADARA. 

Maternal Love 2o6 

.MARTIN. W. C. 

Service of Smiles. The 210 

MARTYN. ELIZA L. 

Trusting 502 

.MASSEY, GERALD. 

Oh. Lay Thy Hand in Mine. Dear 

Thou'rt All the World to Me 



.... 90 
.... 90 
MAST. JENNIE. 

Always , Remembered 463 

At the Close of the Year 1906 342 

Brief Description of Hell. A 3S3 

Consolation 455 

Farewell Greeting 321 

Follow Me 468 

Gratitude 438 

Gone Home 391 

Goodness of God. The 398 

His Unfailing Love 413 

His Voice I Hear 431 

Last Call. The 543 

Lazarus 371 

Left Behind 365 

Little Things 176 

My Precioils Secret 419 

Our Absent Darlings 311 

Our Mother's Gone 315 

Our Savior Knows 465 

Pardoned 420 

Reaper Awake 524 

To the Trumpet Family 337 

Unfruitful Tree. The 347 

Watch and Pray 489 

When the Reapers Came Home 533 

Who Shall be Able to Stand? 395 

Yet Will 1 Rejoice and Praise Him 388 

MC CARTHY. LAURA S. R. 

Midnight 101 

MC CLEAN. SALLIE PRATT. 

De Massa ob de Sheepfol' 386 

MC COLLUM. H. E. 

Wherever Thou Art S2 

MO CREARY. J. L. 

There is no Death 2S9 

MC DONALD. GEORGE. 

Better Things 196 

MC GAPFAY. ERNEST. 

Songs Unsung 191 

MC GIRR. J. J. 

Autumn Evening, The 134 

M'GUIRE. MARY. 

Then and Now _ 312 

JI'KERVER. ABBIE C. 

Home Again 35 

MC LAIN, LORAIN. 

Little Things 224 

Out of the Fold ...Z..Z.!Z!!Z 542 

Quite Different 217 

Storm and the Trial. The !!!.."!..' 458 

Wise Choice, The 162 

MC LEAN. SARAH E. P. 

-My Lover oo 



MO LEISTER, I. P. 
I Will Pray 



486 

MC MAN'US. S. B. 

He Knoweth Your Need 459 

MILLARD, LYDIA M. 

Our Goal and Glory 152 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



13 



Mir.LER. 1. J. A. 

Conii>liraent Your Wife 24 

Wanted 277 

MILLER. JOAQUIN. 

Columbus 16S 

MILLER, MELVILLE. 

When Mother Praj-ed 44 

MILLS, J. S. 

Memories 214 

MILTON, JOHN. 

Adam to Eve 255 

Adam's Morning H.rmn in Paradise 412 

M'l.EOD, NORMAN. 

Trust in God and Do the Right 436 

MITCHELL. WILLIAM. 

Palace o' the King, The 508 

MOLLOY. J. L. 

Race for Life. A 154 

MOXTEITH. RCTH CRISWELL. 

Farewell to the Kitchen 266 

MONTGO.MERY. CARRIE JCDD. 

Take Me. Break Me, Make Me 504 

MONTGOMERY, JAMES. 

Charity „ 477 

It is an Emblem of Glory 141 

My Country 140 

Not Lost, but Gone Before 511 

MOORE. THOMAS. 

As a Beam o*er the Face of the Waters 198 

Beacon. The 124 

Devotion 49 1 

Evening Bells, The 245 

Mourner's Tear, The 40" 

Oft in the Stilly Night 20S 

MORRIS. GEORGE P. 

My Mother's Bible 41 

Woodman. Spare that Tree 95 

MORRIS. IDA GOLDS.MITH. 

It Takes so Little 186 

MORRISON. LLEWELLYN A. 

Benediction, The 406 

Worship 402 

MUHLENBERG, WILLIAM AUGUSTUS. 

I Would Not Live Alway 509 

MUNBY. A. J. 

Pastoral. A 581 

MURRAY. CHARLOTTE. 

Bright and Yet Brighter 458 

MURRAY, ELLEN. 
Agnes the Martyr 377 

N 

NAVLOR. C. W. 

Alone With Jesus 4S8 

Backslider. The 382 

Before the Storm 118 

Fair Zion 484 

God's Way is Best 505 

I Need Thee, Lord 486 

Lite 241 

Songs of the Past and Present 345 

To the Ocean 123 

Unchanging Word, The 448 

What is Prayer? 492 

NEALY, MARY E. 

When the Cows Come Home 264 

NELSON, H. W. 

Best 423 

NESBITT, WILBUR D. 

Laugh, Little Fellow 564 

Make this a Day 440 

Titanic, The 152 

NEWHAM, JOHN. 

Christian's Wants, A 493 

NEWTON, JOHN. 

Lord will Provide. The 456 

NORTON, ANDREWS. 

After a Summer Shower Ill 



NORTON, CAROLINE ELIZABETH. 

Child of Earth. The 290 

NOTHO.MB, H. E. 

At Rest 290 

NOTTAGE. MAY HASTINGS, 

.\Iy Father's Voice in Prayer 41 

O 

O'BEIRXE. H. P. 

Sunrise in the Southwest 110 

OFFORD. R. M. 

Year Untried, A 447 

OGBORN, W. H. 

Infinite, The 211 

Ol.IHAM. G. D. 

Redeeming the Time 440 

Tide of Sin, The 555 

OLSON, NELLIE. 

Among Wisconsin Pines 97 

God's Universal Love 5.^5 

Humming Birds 104 

Lite's Golden Goblet 240 

Little Freckled Girl 661 

Little Toitiboy 555 

World and I. The 227 

Worldling and the Saint, The 38T 

O'REILLY, JOHN BOYLE. 

What is Good? 193 

ORR. CHARLES B. 

Autumn Days 132 

Evening Hour of Prayer, The 4S7 

God's Loving Care 446 

Humility 477 

Living for Others..... 221 

Love in Nature 116 

Memorial 301 

Morning Prayer, A 490 

So Let Me Live 517 

Sunday Morning. A 357 

Thinking'. Lord, of Thee 521 

OSGOOD, FRANCIS S. 

To Labor is to Pray 265 

OVERALL. J. W. 

Spring Down in the Dell. The 48 

P 
PALORAVE. FRANCIS TURNER. 

City of God, The 343 

PALMER. ALICE FREEMAN. 

Four Mottoes 192 

PALMITER, LOUISE P. W. 

Summer Night Sounds :■, 130 

PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD. 

Home Sweet Home 23 

PEABODY. W. O. B. 

Hymn of Nature 411 

PEALE. REMBRANDT. 

Faith and Hope 244 

PEAR.SE. MARK GUT. 

Homely Counsel on Care, A 202 

PELHAM, NETTIE H. 

New Paul Revere, The 156 

PENNEFATHER, MRS. CHATHE5INE. 

Not Now. My Child 531 

I'RRCIVAL, JA.MES G. 

Flight of Time. The 236 

Morning Among the Hills .!."!!!!. 109 

PERCY. FLORENCE. 

Little Feet 154 

PHELPS. D. W. 

To the Mourner 293 

I Love You 91 

PILLIFANT. EDMUND. 

My Old Bible _ 353 

PIERPONT, JOHN. 

My Child 292 

Yankee Boy. The ..!!M!! 553 



14 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



POE, EDGAR ALLEN. 

Bells. The 212 

Vaicotine, A. 581 

POLLARD. JOSEPHINE. 

Me and .Mine 208 

Over and Over Again 192 

Price of a Drink, The 275 

Tired Wife, The 29 

POLLOCK. EDWARD. 

Parting Hour, The 80 

POLLOCK, ROBERT. 

Dying Mother, The 302 

POPE. ALEXANDER. 

Vague Hopes of Nature 236 

PRENTICE, GEORGE D. 

Closing Year, The 242 

PRICKETT, J. B. 

Picture Fancy Painted, The 46 

PRIEST, NANCY A. W. 

Jo.vs of Heaven 511 

Over the River 296 

PROCTER. ADELAIDE A. 

Be Strong 453 

Judge Not 163 

One by One 197 

Present, The 225 

Sowing and Reaping 457 

Thankfulness 418 

Through Peace to Light 486 

Word, A 213 

PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER. 

Sea in Calm. The 122 

Stormy Petrel, The 122 

Q 

QUARLES. FRANCIS. 

Brevltv ot Life 588 

Delight In God Only 406 

B 
RANKIN, J. E. 

Shall We Find Them at the Portals? 189 

BAYKE, .MRS. M. L. 

Brave Kate Shelley's Heroism 143 

BEAD. THOMAS BUCHANAN. 

Closing Scene. The 306 

Our American Women 253 

Sheridan's Ride 160 

BEALF, RICHARD. 

Indirection 203 

REAKDON, E. A. 

Chastisement 444 

REESE. MARY B. 

Wanted ; A Boy 558 

REXPORD. EBEN E. 

"And a Child Shall Lead Them" 81 

Best We Can. The 176 

Kissed His Mother 574 

RICHARDS, W. C. 

Still Waters 415 

RICHARDSON, HELEN M. 

In Winter Days 137 

RICHARDSON, N. K. 

No God _.. 410 

RILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB. 

Kissing the Rod 170 

Monument for the Soldiers, A 149 

Say Something Good 208 

ROBERTS. JOHN E. 

Chosen in Affliction 468 

ROTHMAN. ROBERT. 

Arise anil Shine. O Zion 481 

Flrstfruits of Them that Slept, The 375 

Ruth and Naomi 382 

Will of God, The 493 

ROWLAND, JOHN. 

Autumn 135 

RUDDOCK, C. A. 

Saloons Can not Run Without Boys 278 



RUNCORN. MOLLIE S. 

How Friends are Won 90 

RUSSELL, ANNIE. 

My Baby 552 

RUTTY. JENNIE C. 

All Forgiven 430 

s 

SALMON, LEWIS A. 

Promised Rest, The 46t 

.SANBORN, ISAAC W. 

Autumn 134 

SANGSTER, MARGARET E. 

Are the Children at Home? 298 

Our Own 29 

Thank Him 207 

They Never Quite Leave Us 80 

Thing Left Undone. The 209 

Trifles 25 

SARGENT, EPES. 

Tribute to Genius and Labor 261 

SAWYER, SARAH B. 

Sunset 98 

SAXE. JOHN G. 

Blind Men and the Elephant, The 586 

Head and the Heart, The 219 

Solomon and the Bees 60 

SCHILLER. FRIEDRICH. 

Words of Strength 173 

SCHMOLKB. 

Heavier the Cross 449 

My Jesus, as Thou Wilt 499 

SCOTT. MARGARET A. B. 

Lines on the Death of a Friend 83 

SCOTT. SIR WALTER. 

Patriotism 151 

Soldier's Rest, The 152 

SCUDDER, ELIZA. 

Vesper Hymn 494 

SEABURY, EMMA PLAYTER. 

Whose Fault ? 39 

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. 

Cardinal Wolsey. on Being Cast off by King 

Henry VIII 251 

Immortality of the Soul 516 

Mercy 476 

SHEFFIELD. EDWARD. 

Mount Hood 119 

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. 

Sunset 104 

SHBBRICK, FANNIE ISABELLE. 

Denver 323 

SHIPTON, ANNA. 

Ministry of Love, The 487 

SHIRLEY, JAMES. 

Death the Leveler 227 

SHROY, JOHN L. 

One Talent Man, The 466 

SIGOURNEY, MRS. LYDIA H. 

Go to Thy Best 290 

Know Thyself 221 

Lost Day, The 197 

SILL, E. R. 

Pool's Prayer, The 53 

SIMPSON. A. B. 

What is the Time to Trust? 442 

SKEAT. W. W. 

Fame, Wealth, Life, Death 248 

SKINNER, HUBERT M. 

Babe of Bethlehem, The 353 

SLEEPER, W. T. 

Nothing Less and Nothing More „ 488 

SMITH, MRS. ALBERT. 

Scatter Seeds of Kindness 163 

SMITH, ELIZABETH OAKES. 

Wife, The 2S6 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



15 



SMITH, FRANCIS S. 

Spirit Rosebud, The 305 

SMITH, HORACE. 
Moral Alchemy 219 

SMITH. MBS. LIDA M. 

We are Growing Old 228 

SMITH. MAY RILEY. 

Sometime 452 

SMITH. MARY RIPLEY. 

Tired Mothers 192 

SMITH. SAMUEL FRANCIS. 

America 151 

SOUTHEY. CAROLINE BOWLES. 

Pauper's Death-l)ed, The 310 

SODTHEY. ROBERT. 

Cataract of Lodore, The 585 

Greenwood Shrift. The 54 

Love Indestructible 478 

SPENCER. CAROLINE. 

Living Waters 175 

SPRAGUE, CHARLES. 

Lines on the Death of a Sister 291 

STAPLES, BELLE. 

Heavenly City, The 508 

STEVENSON, CHARLES W. 

Toil - 264 

STILES. KATE R. 

Don't Let the Song Go Out of Your Life 166 

STODDARD, R. H. 

Flight of Youth, The 227 

STONE. SAMUEL. 

Church Has One Foundation, The 481 

STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER. 

Other World, The 5U 

STREET, A. B. 

American Independence 141 

STURN. JULIUS. 

Gods Anvil _ 498 

SUSO, H. 

• Master's Hand, The 429 

SWAIN, CHARLES. 

Forgive and Forget 223 

True Nobility 262 

SWAIN. JOSEPH. 

O Thou in Whose Presence 401 

T 

TAPPAN, WILLIAM B. 

Jesus Prays — 378 

TATRO. MRS. G. W. 

Eventide 96 

TAYLOR. BAYARD. 

Possession 78 

Wind and Sea 122 

TAYLOR, BENJAMIN P. 

Long Ago, The 243 

TAYLOR. GEORGE LANSING. 

Warning to Ministers, A 587 

TAYLOR, TOM. 

Abraham Lincoln. 319 

TEASLEY, D. O. 

Back to the Blessed Old Bible 348 

Eternity 335 

TELLER, H. W. 

• 'What Matter ?' ' 641 

TENNYSON, ALFRED. 

Babylon 57 

Break, Break, Break 122 

Charge of the Light Brigade 155 

Crossing the Bar _ 252 

Fall of Jerusalem, The 55 

How Gayly Sinks the Gorgeous Sun 610 

Human Cry, The 400 

Midnight _ - 09 

On the Death of My Grflndm>>ther. 301 

Passions, The 177 

Prayer 403 

Poet's Song, The 199 



Scotch Songs 200 

Slighted Lover, The 87 

Thunder Storm, The 103 

Time: an Ode 234 

THAXTER. CELIA. 

Cheer Up 220 

THAYER, JULIA H. 

Submission 181 

THOMAS, ANNA K. 

Alone 518 

Beautiful Snow, The 98 

Brook. The 1 10 

Childhood 574 

Easter Ode, An 405 

Faith 47T 

God's Dwelling-place ; 360 

God's Handiwork 520 

India's Call for the Gospel 529 

Life , 363 

Lines to a White Chrysanthemum Ill 

Petition 488 

Plucked Bud, A 313 

Pra.ver. A 488 

Refrain. A 620 

Shenandoah River, The 321 

Spring 128 

Sunbeams „ 120 

Thunder, The 517 

Time 219 

Voices of Nature 117 

Walk by Moonlight, The 522 

Weariness 521 

Year, The _ 573 

THOMAS. MRS. SARAH A. 

To My Husband 88 

THORPE, SMILY D. 

Silent Village, The 314 

TITLEY, W. W. 

Some Blessed Day 515 

TOPLAUY, A. M. 

Consolation in Sickness 417 

TRENCH, RICHARD C. 

Content and Discontent 464 

TRIPP, HOWARD C. 

Old Home, The 42 

TROWBRIDGE. JOHN T. 

Children in the Household 26 

Farm Yard Song 272 

TUBES, ARTHUR LEWIS. 

Two Verdicts 281 



VICKERS. GEORGE M. 

Four Kisses, The 217 

VENABLE, W. H. 

Teacher's Dream, The 172 

vr 

WALLACE, WILLIAM. 

Greenwood Cemetery 32© 

Hand that Rocks the Cradle, The 234 

WARDER, G. W. 

Saddest Thoughts Make Sweetest Song 213 

Woman _ 255 

WARING, ANNA L. 

In Heavenly Love Abiding 456 

Lowly Heart, The 493 

WARNER, ANNA. 

On'3 More Day's Work for .Jesus 537 

WARNER, B. T. 

My Prayer 494 

WARNER, DANIEL S. 

All In All to Me 447 

After the Battle 349 

Autumn 135 

Autumn Leaves 334 

Beautiful Spring 128 

Bond of Perfectness, The 431 

Celia 299 

Church Triumphant. The 484 

Crusades of Hell, The.._„ 367 

Eternity 354 



16 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Everlasting Joy 415 

Faith 479 

Good-by. Old Rockies 112 

Holy Fellowship 427 

Humility 478 

I Ought to Love My Savior 429 

iDuocence 470 

Ju.Vto that Sinners Know Not 383 

Lily and Willie 308 

Lines Reproving Some Sectarian Idolatry 399 

Love is Freedom's Law 344 

My Soul Is Satistted 426 

Nature's Devotion 397 

New-year's Greeting 338 

On the Marriage of a Mr. Hope 582 

Pure Bride Restored. The 374 

Soul-Cripple Cit.v 3T6 

Throwing Ink at the Devil 385 

To My Dear Sldne.v 394 

To the Allen 392 

Truth 389 

Two Little Hands 305 

Who Will SuEfer with Jesus': 532 

WARREN, B. E. 

God's Majest.v 411 

Let Creation Praise the Creator 412 

Music 363 

Nature 118 

Once and Now 422 

What Faith Does 476 

World in Sin, The 546 

WATERMAN, NIXON. 
To Know All is to Forgive All 184 

WATERS, GAT. 

August 132 

WATTS, ISAAC. 

Cradle Hymn, A 565 

Wondrous Cross. The 401 

WI^BSTER, DANIEL. 

Memory of the Heart, The 



90 

WESLEY, CHARLES. 
Oh, for a Thousand Tongues 411 

WHITNEY, HATTIE. 

Thanksgiving Rest 40 

WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF. 

Angel of Patience, The 450 

April 129 

Barefoot Boy, The 560 

Cities of the Plain. The 64 

Clear Vision, The 105 

Cruciflxion, The 358 

Cypress — Tree of Ceylon, The 251 

Dear Home Faces 167 

Destinies of Life 177 

Farewell, The 65 

Forgiveness 199 

Goodly Heritage, A 460 

In School-days 89 

Innocent Child and Snow-white Flower 563 

Maud Muller 91 

Minister's Daughter, The 344 

Palestine 322 

Poet and the Children, The 325 

Red Riding Hood 167 

Sin's Slavery 331 

Snow-Bound 95 

Tauler 350 

Vaudois Teacher, The 338 

WILCOX, CARLOS. 

God Everywhere In Nature „ 109 

WILCOX. ELLA WHEELER. 

Be not Content 215 

Give 218 

Snowed Under 248 

"They Say" 1T7 

Your Cross 443 

WILLARD. EMMA. 

Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep 499 

WILLIAMS, DWIGHT, 

Book My Mother Read, The 49 

"Little While. A" 452 

WILLIAMS, MRS. ,E. E. 

"All for Jesus!" — Do We Mean If; 523 



VMLLIAMS, ISAAC. 
Trust 425 



WILLIAMS, T. WARSAW. 

Hymn of Resignation, A 313 

WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER. 

Absalom 61 

Birthday Verses 30 

Christ's Entrance into Jerusalem 69 

David's Grief for His Child 58 

Dying Alchemist, The 56 

Healing of the Daughter of Jalrus, The 68 

Jephthah's Daughter 62 

My Mother's Voice 47 

New Year, The JST 

On the Picture of a "Child Tired of Play".... 201 

Sacriflco of Abiaham. The 63 

Scei:e in Gethsemane 64 

rresent Life in View of the Future. The 511 

WILSON, JENNIE. 

Have We Done What We Could? 532 

WIL.SON, T. E. 

Women at the Cross 253 

WILTON. RICHARD. 

Favorite Path. A 220 

WINGATE. MARY B. 

We've Been Praying for You 396 

WINTERMUTE. MRS. MARTHA. 

I'd Rather 164 

WINTON. MBS. J. M. 

Better than Gold 218 

WOOD, STANLEY. 

Homes of the Cliff-Dwellers 320 

WOODROW, FRED. 

Lost Bird on Shipboard 126 

WOODS, MRS. KATE T. 

Dan's Wife 27 

WOODWORTH, NELLIE H. 
In the Dawning of the Morning 516 

WOODWORTH. .SAMUEL. 

Old Oaken Bucket, The 45 

WRAY, EVA M. 

Beautiful Sunset 102 

Better Part. The 340 

Blind — Deaf — Deliverance 547 

Charity 478 

Is There Naught that Satisfies? 390 

Mountain Stream, The 117 

T 

YATES, JOHN H. 

Old Ways and the New, The '... 261 

YOUNG. EDWARD. 

Emptiness of Riches, The 209 

Man 235 

ANONYMOUS. 

Against a Thorn 383 

Acrostic, An 585 

Altar of Pra.ver, The 425 

Always in the Way 24 

Answered Prayers 441 

Assurance 464 

Autumn Woods, The 134 

Babylon is Fallen 387 

Battle of Life, The 564 

Be Kind to Father 561 

Be Kind to the Loved Ones at Home 23 

Be Patient 463 

Be Ready All 438 

Be Strong, My Soul, In God 469 

Be Swift 206 

Be True 557 

Beautiful Snow, The 280 

Beautiful Things 165 

Bedtime Kiss, The 33 

Before the Sun Goes Down 196 

Believer's Privilege, The 426 

Benediction, A 431 

Beyond 442 

Beyond Today 504 

Blessings of Song, The 223 

Books of the Bible 582 

Boots of a Household. The 576 

Boy Who Helps His Mother, The 571 

Boy Jesus, The 568 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



17 



Boy's Promise. A 576 

Bravest Battle, Tbe 39 

Brilliants 500 

Brink or the Grave. Tlie 519 

Broadcast Thy Seed 534 

Burden of .Sorrow, The 297 

Changed Hvmn, A 420 

Chickens, The 5G2 

Child's Mirror, The 503 

Chisel- Work 50.-! 

Christ 414 

Christian's Warfare. Tbe 467 

Christlikc 44 1 

Christmas Hymn 398 

Cleaning House 210 

Closing Year, The 333 

"Come Unto Me" 545 

"Come Ye Apart" 451 

Coming 4.'!4 

Communion 443 

Conscience and Future Judgment 232 

Consecration 500 

Convict's Plea, A 282 

Correct Order. The 16.') 

Crowded Street, The 223 

Cruse that Faileth Not, Tlie 526 

Cry from Foreign Fields. A 528 

Cry of the Heathen. The 530 

"Cuml)ered About Much Serving" 497 

Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight 8.") 

Curious Literary Composition 584 

Dare and Do _ 200 

Dealing with Trouble 213 

Death 514 

Death of an Infant 302 

Death of Gaudentis 144 

Deeds, Not Words 33 7 

Description of a Storm at Sea 124 

Did You Do it for Jesus? 527 

Disappointment 504 

Do Something Today 529 

Do What You Peel You Should 174 

Do Y'our Best 551 

Don't Deepen the Wrinkles 224 

Don't Marry a Man to Reform Him 285 

Door Mat. A 502 

Dream. A 168 

Dreamer. The 190 

Dropping a Seed 534 

Drunkard's Alphabet. Tbe 281 

Duties of Today. The 161 

Dying Wife. Tbe 295 

Eternal Y'ears. The 435 

Emigrant's Wish. Tbe 33 

Empty Lives. Tbe 187 

Evening Hour, The 161 

Example of Alliteration. An 584 

Face the Sun 178 

Farewell Old Mill 207 

Farmer Gray 271 

"Fear Thou Not" 454 

Fellowship of Toil, Tbe 268 

Field, Tbe 532 

Fight Fresh Battles 202 

Finding Fault 207 

Five Little Foxes 571 

Folded Hands 315 

Folded Hands 316 

Follow Me 545 

For the Children 565 

Followers of Them 362 

Forest Trees 572 

Forget — Remember 221 

Four-leaf Clovers 205 

Friends of Long ,\go 44 

Gather With Care 207 

Gentleman. A 57.*'i 

Gentlemanly Boy, A 570 

Gethsemane 384 

Give Them the Flowers Now 189 

Giving and Living 352 

Glad Homeland, Tbe 180 

Go Bury Thy Sorrow 45,". 

God Holds the Key 421 

God Is Ever Good 409 

God is Everywhere 404 

God Understands 457 

Go<rs rx>ve and Wisdom 444 

God's Sentinels 97 

God's Way is Best 445 

God's Will for Us 1S8 

Goini,' to Srbnol 571 



Good-bye 83 

Good Cheer 172 

Good Old Grandmother, The 294 

Grandma's Home 49 

Grandma's Surprise 570 

Grindstone of Fate- 567 

Happy New Y'ear, A .*. 442 

Hate of tbe Bowl 275 

Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No 569 

Have Faith in tbe Boy 573 

He Olveth His Loved Ones Sleep 385 

He Leadeth .Me 424 

"He Careth for Xou" 463 

Heavenly Treasure 378 

Helping Hand, A .-... 193 

Hereafter 308 

Hereafter 343 

Hiding 573 

Himself 417 

"His Majesty" 361 

Holiness 398 

Home 39 

Home Song, A 36 

Hope 479 

House and Home 253 

Household Fairy, The 570 

How Easy it Is! 203 

How Readest Thou! 436 

How Soon We Lose Them 25 

Hymn to the Night Wind 115 

I Can not Turn the Key and My Bairn Out- 
side 33 

I Didn't Think 220 

I Have no Mother Now 301 

Iceberg, Tbe 201 

If 283 

If I Knew 276 

If I May Help 240 

If I Should Die Tonight 215 

If We Knew 202 

If We Would 535 

Immortal Life, The 510 

In the Heart 189 

In the Way 28 

Independence Bell 147 

Indian Hymn 587 

Innocence 480 

Is not This the Land of Beulah? 419 

It Matters Much 193 

Jesus All Sufficient 422 

Jesus, I'll Go Through with Thee 503 

Jesus Weeping over Jerusalem 381 

John, the Beloved 358 

Joyful Hours 429 

Just a Mention of the Seasons 126 

Just for Today 495 

Just Like a Man 29 

Just This Minute 167 

Katie Lee and Willie Gray 75 

Keep Steady 180 

Kindly Word, The 194 

Lady Hlldegarde, The 364 

Last Rose of Summer, The 189 

Leaf by Leaf 194 

Lean Hard 452 

Learn a Little Every Day 214 

Learn to Give 435 

Life 190 

Life's Lesson 464 

Life's Mirror 170 

Life's Possibilities 439 

Liquor Bar. Tbe 282 

Little By Little _ 556 

Little Face. A 569 

Little Goldenhair 552 

Little Grave. Tbe 301; 

Little Kindnesses 201 

Little Things 215 

Look Ahead 176 

Lord's Pra.ver Illustrated. The 375 

Love and Laughter 215 

Love Lightens Labor 263 

Love of God. The 408 

Lucky Call. Tbe 37 

Maiden Martyr, The 70 

Make Childhood Sweet 37 

Man in the Boy, The 553 

Man's Answer, A 86 

Married for Love 88 

Master is Coming, The 366 

Master's Healing Touch, The 352 

Master's Questions, The 630 



18 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



Maternity 38 

Measui-iug the Baby 554 

Message of Love, A 362 

Missionary Call, The 526 

More and Less 522 

Morning Gifts 187 

Mother and Her Dying Boy, The 302 

Mother is Resting 308 

Mother's Goodbye. The 575 

Mother's Growing Old _ 31 

Mother's Lore, A 75 

Mother's Trust. The 374 

Mr. Skeptical's Experience 379 

My Beautiful Secret 422 

My Happy Home 39 

My Heart's Stor.v 428 

My Little Wife 26 

My Lord and 1 421 

My .Mother's Hands 28 

My Shepherd 419 

My Times are in Thy Hands 502 

Nature and Faith 513 

Nay. Speak no 111 221 

Need of Today. The 366 

New .lerusalem. The 509 

New Leaf. A 188 

New Year's Wishes 353 

Night .. 101 

No Night Shall be in Heaven 612 

No Place for Boys 32 

Not Knowing 445 

Not One to Spare 25 

Not Work but Worry 211 

Nothing is Lost :.• 179 

Nothing to Do .''. 533 

Off for Slumber Land „ 32 

Old Cottage Clock, The 36 

Old Couple. The 38 

Old Rye Makes a Speech 281 

On an Infant's Death 3O9 

One Day , 495 

One Hunilred Thousand Souls Lost Every Day. .592 

One Link Gone " 310 

One Little Boy ', ',,', 577 

One Little Hour 438 

One Step More 449 

Only a Step ...!^.".... .. 192 

Only for Thee ",, 487 

Only One Mother ..'.' 579 

Only Waiting 248 

Our Beloved !!!!,!!!"!"!!^.!. 299 

Our Fathers "'"'"'"'''"". .155 

Our Lives ..',.",........... 245 

Our .Mother .'.!.r."....". 37 

Our Mother '..'""..'. 674 

Out of and Into !""!!!!.!!.". 416 

Patience !...'.!.!!!".! 565 

Patience with the Living 84 

Pilgrim's Wants, The .""''-"'Z 4S8 

Place of Pra.ver. The 489 

Power of the Cross. The .', 496 

Preacher's Vacation. The ,'.,..] 355 

Present Help. A []'^][ 458 

Prizing the Cross !!"!!!!!!""!!!!!! 461 

Prodigal Daughter. The ..„ 544 

Pure Testimony. The "" 38] 

Quaint Old Cross. A ..""!!.!!!!."!."!! 582 

Query. A "..."'. 191 

Rainlww. The I85 

Raindrops' Ride. The 562 

Reaping j75 

Retiner'a Fire. The 499 

Reliance on God 348 

Remember. Boys Make Men !.!!"!!!!!!!.'"!! 558 

Resolution of Ruth " 87 

Rest ' jg^ 

Rest in God 4gg 

Rock. Christ, The 492 

Return. The 34 

Risen Lord. The .'..".".!.,.!".".'..'" 399 

Rock of Ages ".!!!'.!!!"!!!!"!" 188 

Rumseller's Sign. The !,"."'!" 281 

Sacred Spot. A !.."!!.!.'!.!!".! 365 

Saintly Sympathy 245 

Sanctlflcation 4]g 

Satisfied 496 

Sayings and Doings " 033 

Seeds .' 210 

Selections from Psalm XXXVII 396 

Sermon in Rhyme. A 208 

Sermon in Verse. A I73 

Servtce 442 



Shine Just Where You Are ". 188 

Silver Lining. The 170 

Singing Birds Fly Lowest 205 

Sojourners 226 

Soldier's Wife. The 257 

Solitary Way, The 448 

Some Mother's Child..... 534 

Somebody Cares 453 

Somebody's Mother 557 

Somehow or Other 199 

Something Sure 190 

Song of the Decanter 588 

Songs that Mother Sung, The 41 

Soulless Prayer. The 393 

Source of All, The 405 

Speak Gentl.v 37 

Speak Gentl.v 223 . 

Speak the Good Word 209 

Speed Away 348 

Star Points ', 361 

Starless Crown. The 530 

Stopping in Your Steps 211 

Strength for Today 173 

Submission and Rest 499 

Success ; 208 

Sun-Clouds 374 

Sweet Refuge. A 495 

Sweet Rest to Come 541 

Sweets of Woman's Life 254 

Table Manners in Rhyme " see 

Tell Her So 38 

Tell Jesus " 439 

"Tempted and Tricl" ". 450 

Time for Prayer. Tiie " 495 

There Come the Boys 554 

Those We Love the Best 163 

Thou Lovest not Jle 543 

Thy Will be Done 498 

"Thy Will be Done" ., .' 503 

To a Skeleton ' 240 

To My Mother ". 395 

Today is Yours *] 173 

Tomorrow ig8 

Tone of the Voice, The 200 

Tongue. The !.".!!."!.. 210 

Too Late "'" 213 

"Too Many of We" !.!!."!!!" 35 

True Aristocrat. The .' " 262 

True Gladness " ' ' 174 

True Love Better than Gold 85 

Trust Thy Father Still 465 

Truth ;;; 333 

Truth 437 

Turning the Flowers 191 

Two Glasses. The ."' 277 

Two Offerings ..!!"....!.....!.... 566 

Two Pennies '.....". 527 

Two Pennies. The !.."!"..".."'."!!!" 199 

Unanswered Yet ? L!!*!™!^!!!!!!!!! 460 

Under His E.ve .'!."".""..'.""!"'." 436 

Under the Leaves.. '...'.['..'..'. 170 

Unfailing Power 46^ 

Unwritten Poems """. igg 

Valley of Rest. The ....!!!.!! 313 

Wanderer, The 202 

Wanted : A Boy ....'. 554 

Watch Thou in All Thing? I!!!!"!!!!!!!!!!!! 439 

Water that Has Passed, The.... ISO 

We All Might do Good 172 

We Shall Know Eacli Other There 516 

Web of Life. The '" 239 

We'll Understand ..!."!'! 460 

What Are the Children Saying?... 530 

What is Charity? 47^ 

What is Heaven? 372 

What is Lite? 040 

What is Time? 174 

What Makes Home? 39 

What of Today? 525 

What Then? (To the Believer) 372 

What Then? (To the Unbeliever.) ' 372 

"When I Have Time" ' 2OO 

When I Was a Boy 43 

When Thy Way Seems Darkest 443 

When We Were Boys 553 

Where Are You Going to Stop? 4.34 

Where Girls Can not Go 075 

Where is Home? "07 

Where's Mother? ' r.yg 

Which Loved Best? ggo 

Which Road? okZ 

Whither? ' JjJ 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



19 



Wlin is My Brother? 402 

Who ia Jly Neighbor; 211 

Who Will Care? '^M 

Who Shall Roll away the Stone? 4.11 

Who Trusts in God's Uncbanging Love? 449 

Whom Raving not Seen, We Love 519 

Whose Boy ? 283 

Why Do We Wait? 174 

Why Weepest Thou? 443 



Wife to Her nusban.I, The 34 

Will \'ou Love Me When I'm Old? 77 

Wolves. The 271 

Woman's Question, A 86 

Women's Bights 254 

Word that Counts, The 187 

Words 193 

Words I Did rot Say, The 205 

Tour Work 440 



THE HOME CIRCLE 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



23 



THE HOME CIRCLE 



HOME. 

[From the Greek of Leonldas. 1 

Cling to thy home! If there the meanest 
shed 

Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy 
head, 

And some poor plot, with vegetables stored, 

Be all that Heaven allots thee for thy 
board — • 

Unsavory bread, and herbs that, scattered, 
grow 

WTld on the river-brink or mountain-brow — 

Yet een this cheerless mansion shall pro- 
vide 

More heart's repose than all the world be- 
side. ROBEBT BI,1ND. 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 

Mid pleasure and palaces though we may 

roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 

home; 
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us 

there, 
Wliich, seek through the world, is ne'er 

met with elsewhere. 
Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 
There's no place like home, oh, there's no 

place like home! 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in 

vain; 
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage 

again! 
The birds singing gayly, that came at my 

call- 
Give mo them — and the peace of mind, 

dearer than all! 
Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 
There's no place like home, oh, there's no 

place like home! 

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear 

wild, 
And feel that my mother now thinks of 

her child. 
As she looks on that moon from our own 

cottage door 
Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall 

cheer me no more. 
Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 
There's no place lilte home, oh, there's no 

place like home! 

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond fa- 
ther's smile. 

And the caress of a mother to soothe and 
beguile! 

Let others delight mid new pleasure to 
roam. 

But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of 
home, 



Home, home, sweet, sweet home! 
There's no place like home, oh, there's no 
place like home! 

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care; 
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me 

there; 
No more from that cottage again will I 

roam; 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 

home. 
Home, home, aweet, sweet home! 
There's no place like home, oh, there's no 

place like home! 

John Howard Painii. 



BE KIND TO THE LOVED ONES AT 
HOME. 

Be kind to thy father; for when thou wert 
young, 
Who loved thee so fondly as he? 
He caught the first accents that fell from 
thy tongue. 
And joined in thy innocent glee. 
Be kind to thy father; for now he is old, 

His locks intermingled with gray; 
His footsteps are feeble, once fearless and 
bold; 
Thy father is passing away. 

Be kind to thy mother; for, lo! on her brow 

May traces of sorrow be seen; 
Oh, well mayst thou cherish and comfort 
her now. 
For loving and kind hath she been. 
Remember thy mother: for thee shall she 
pray 
As long as God glveth her breath; 
With accents of kindness then cheer her 
lone way. 
E'en to the dark valley of death. 

Be kind to thy brother: his lieart will have 
dearth 

If the smiles of thy joy be withdrawn; 
The flowers of feeling will fade at their 
birth 

If the dew of affection be gone. 
Be kind to thy brother wherever you are: 

The love of a brother shall be 
An ornament purer and richer by far 

Than pearls from the depths of the sea. 

Be kind to thy sister: not many may know 

The depth of the sisterly love; 
The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below 

The surface that sparkles above. 
Be kind to thy father, once fearless and 
bold, 

Be kind to thy mother so near. 
Be kind to thy brother nor show thy heart 
cold. 

Be kind to thy sister so dear. 



24 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ALWAYS IN THE WAY. 

[A niutber wlio was preparing socie flour for bak- 
ing into cakfs, left it for a few minuter. During her 
absence little Mary, with childish cariosity to see 
what it was, took hold of the dish, which fell to the 
floor and spilled its contents. The mother struck the 
child a severe blow, sa.ving with anger. "You are al- 
wn.vs in the wa.v!" A few days afterwards little 
Mary became deathly sick. While delirious she 
asked her mother if there would be room for her 
among thu angels. "I was always in your way. 
Mother, You had no room for me sometimes. Shall 
I be in the angels' way?" The broken-hearted 
mother then felt no sacrifice too great, could she 
have saved her child. 

In order to impress the Incident some one adajited 
the following verses.] 

■UTien the dewy light was fading 
And the sky in beauty smiled. 

Came this whisper, like an echo. 
From a pale and dying child — 

"Mother, in that golden region 
With its pearly gates so fair, 

Up among the happy angels, 
Is there room for Mary there? 

"Mother, raise me just a moment; 

You'll forgive nie when I say 
■you were angry when you told me 

I was always in the way. 

"Tou were sorry in a moment; 

I could read it on your brow, 
But you'll not '■ecall it. Mother, 

You must never mind it now. 



"Wlien my baby sister calls me. 
And you hear my voice no more; 

■UHien she plays among the roses 
By our little cottage door, 

"Xever chide lier when you're angry. 

Do it kindly and in love. 
That you both may dwell with Mary, 

In the sunny land above!" 

Then she plumed her snowy pinion.s 
Till she folded them to rest 

Mid the welcome songs of rapture 
On the loving Savior's breast. 

In the bright and golden region. 
With its pearly gates so fair. 

She is singing with the angels — 
Yes, there's room for Mary there. 



COMPLIMENT YOUR WIFE. 

If you'd liave her dearly love you — 
Ardently as God above you — 
Compliment her worthy actions, 
Making no unjust exactions; 
Treat her always in a way 
That your deeds forever say: 

Darling wife, I love you ever, 
Angry words M'ill part us never " 
Often kiss and hug and squeeze her. 
That's the way to pet and please her; 
Do not let her catch the notion — 
Tours is not a true devotion. 



Don't believe the guilty rabble 
Or the mischief-maker's gabble 
Of the many things she's doing. 
Of the other heart she's wooing; 
Stick to her whate'er you do, 
Trust her as she trusteth you; 
For a home of love and pleasure 
Is a truly priceless treasure. 
When your tea or supper's over, 
Don't start out and play the "rover," 
Stay at home — obey her wishes — 
Rock the babe or dry the dishes; 
Don't go gadding over town 
Like a lunatic or clown. 
If it please her, take her walking. 
Don't play mule and go to balking. 
If she's tired and overbearing. 
Do not then resort to swearing. 
Treat her kindly, take life easy. 
Don't be crabbed, rough, or "teasy"; 
With a reassuring smile 
Kiss her once or twice a wliile. 
And you'll notice what a change 
Comes from little things so strange- 
Love her as a lover would. 
Treat her as a husband should. 
Let that courtship ever last 
That impelled you in the past; 
Make your marriage one of worth. 
That will last beyond this earth; 
Court her love and wistful eye. 
Keep on courting till you die. 
Help her feel this life worth living; 
Be forbearing and forgiving. 
She will gladly bless and honor 
You, for blessings heaped upon lier, 
And you never will regret 
That in love you firmly met; 
And when dead, in lonesome hours, 
She will deck your grave with flow'rs. 
1. J. A, Miller. 



A HOME IN THE HEART. 

Oh! ask not a home in the mansions of 
pride. 
Where marble shines out in the pillars 
and ^^■alls: 
Though the roof be of gold, it is brilliantly 
cold. 
And joy may not be found in Its torch- 
lighted halls. 
But seek for a bosom all honest and true, 
Where love, once awakened, will never 
depart; 
Turn, turn to that breast like the dove to 
its nest. 
And you'll find there's no home like a 
home in the lieart. 

Oh! link but one spirit that's warmly sin- 
cere, 
That will heighten your pleasure and 
solace your care; 

Find a soul you may trust as the kind and 
the just, 
And be sure tlie wide world holds no 
treasure so rare. 

Then the frowns of Misfortune may shadow 
our lot. 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



25 



The cheek-searing- tear-drops of Sorrow 

may start; 
But a star never dim sheds a halo for him 
Who can turn for repose to a home in 

the heart. El:za Cook. 



HOW SOON WE LOSE THEM. 

Hold diligent converse with thy children! 

have them 
Morning and evening round thee; love thou 

them, 
And win their love in these rare, beau- 
teous years: 
For only while the short-lived dream of 

childhood 
Lasts are they thine — no longer! When 

youth comes 
Much passes througli their thoughts, — 

which is not thou. 
And much allures their hearts, — which thou 

hast not. 
They grain a knowledge of an older world 
Which fills their souls; and floats before 

them now 
Tlie future. And the present thus is lost. 
Then with his little traveling-pocket full 
Of indispen.sables, the boy goes forth. 
Wleeping, thou watchest till he disappears. 
And never after is he thine again! 
He comes back home — he loves— he wins a 

maid — 
He lives! They live, and others spring 

to life 
From him; and now thou hast in him, 
A human being, but no more a cliild! 
Thy daughter, wedded takes a frequent joy 
In bringing thee her children to thy house! 
Thou hast the mother, but the child no 

more! 
Hold diligent converse with thy children! 

have them 
Morning and evening round thee; love thou 

them. 
And win their love In the rare, beauteous 

years. 



NOT ONE TO SPARE. 

[A rich man who had no chiMren proposed to his 
poor neighbor, who hart .'ievoD. to take one of them, 
and promised, if the parents would consent, that he 
would give them proi»erty enouirh to make them- 
selves, and their other six children, comfortable for 
life. 1 

"Which shall It be? Which shall it be?" 
I looked at John, John looked at me 
(Dear, patient John, who loves me yet 
As well as when my locks were jet). 
And when I found tliat I must speak. 
My voice seemed strangely low and weak: 
"Tell me again what Robert said!" 
And tlien I, listening, bent my head. 
"This is his letter: 'I will give 
A house and land while you shall live, 
If, In return, from out your seven. 
One child to me for aye be given." " 
I looked at John's old garments worn: 
I thought of all that John had borne 



Of poverty, and work, and care. 

Which I, though willing, could not share; 

I tiiought of seven mouths to feed. 

Of seven little children's need. 

And then of this. "Come, John," said I, 

"We'll choose among them as tliey lie 

Asleep." So, walking hand in liand. 

Dear John and I surveyed our band. 

First to tlie cradle light we stepped, 

Wliere Lillian, the baby, slept, 

A glory 'gainst the pillow white. 

Softly the father stooped to lay 

His rougli hand down in loving way. 

When dream or whisper made her stir; 

Then huskily lie said, "Xot her." 

We stooped beside the trundle-bed, 

And one long ray of lamp-light shed 

Athwart the boyish faces tliere. 

In sleep so pitiful and fair. 

I saw on Jamie's rough, red clieek 

A tear undried. Ere John could speak, 

"He's but a baby, too," said I, 

And kissed him as we hurried by. 

Pale, patient Robbie's angel face 

Still in liis sleep bore suffering's trace: 

"No for a thousand crowns, not him," 

We whispered, while our eyes were dim. 

Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son. 

Turbulent, reckless, idle one — 

Could he be spared? "Nay, He who gave 

Bids us befriend him to his grave; 

Only a mother's heart can be 

Patient enough for such as he. 

And so," said John, "I would not dare 

To send him from her bedside prayer." 

Tlien stole we softly up above. 

And knelt by Mary, child of love: 

"Perhaps for her 'twould better be," 

I said to John. Quite silently 

He lifted up a curl that lay 

Across her cheek in wilful way. 

And shook liis head, "Nay, love, not thee," 

The while my heart beat audibly. 

Only one more, our eldest lad, 

Trusty and truthful, good and glad — 

So like his father "No, John, no — 

I can not, will not let him go." 

.\nd so We wrote in courteous way. 
We could noi drive one child away. 
And afterwards toil lighter seemed. 
Thinking of that of which we dreamed; 
Happy, in truth, that not one face 
Was missed from its accustomed place; 
Thankful to work for all the seven. 
Trusting the rest to One in heaven! 



TRIFLES. 

Sometimes I am tempted to murmur 

That life Is flitting away. 
With only a round of trifles 

Filling each busy day; 
Dusting nooks and corners. 

Making the house look fair, 
And patiently taking on me 

The burden of woman's care- 
Comforting childish sorrows. 

And charming the childish heart 



26 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



With the simple song and story, 

Told with a mother's art; 
Setting the dear home table, 

And clearing the meal away, 
And going on little errands 

In the twilight of the day. 

One day is just like another! 

Sewing and piecing well 
lilttle jackets and trousers 

So neatly that none can tell 
Where are the seams and joinings. 

Ah, the seamy side of life 
Is kept out of sight by the magic 

Of many a mother and wife. 

And oft when ready to murmur 

That life is flitting away. 
With the selfsame round of duties 

Filling each busy day. 
It comes to my spirit sweetly. 

With the grace of a thought divine: 
"You are living, toiling, for love's sake, 

And the loving should never repine. 

"Tou are guiding the little footsteps 

In the way they ought to walk. 
You are dropping a word for Jesus 

In the midst of your household talk; 
Living your life for love's sake 

Till the homely cares grow sweet, 
And sacred the self-denial 

That is laid at the Master's feet." 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



CHILDREN IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 

Old age is a garden of faded flowers. 

Ruined bowers, 
Peopled by cares and failing powers; 

■WJie 9 Pain with Iiis crutch, and lonely 
Grief, 

Grope with brief. 
Slow steps over ruined stalk and leaf. 

But the love of chil ren is like some rare 

Heaven'' air. 
That makes long Indian summer there; 

A youth in age, when the skies yet glow, 

Soft winds blow, 
And hearts keep glad under locks of snow 

In the best-wrought life there Is still a reft. 

Something left 
Forever unfinished, a broken weft. 

But merciful Nature makes amends, 

Wlien she sends 
Touth, that takes up our raveled ends. 

Our hopes, our loves, that they be not quite 

Lost to sight; 
But leave behind us a fringe of light. 

Blessed be children! Tear by year 

They appear, 
Filling the humblest home with cheer. 



Now a daughter and now a son. 

One by one 
They are cradled, they creep, they walk, 
they run. 

Sons and daughters, until, behold! 

Young and old, 
A Jacob's ladder with Fteps of gold! 

A ladder of little heads: each fair 

Head a stair 
For the angels that visit the parent pair! 

Blessed be childhood! even its chains 

Are our gains! 
Welcome and blessed with all the pains, 

Losses, and upward vanishings 

Of light wings. 
With all the sorrow and toil It brings. 

All burdens that ever those small feet bore 

To our door — • 
Blessed and welcome forevermore! 

John T. Trowbridge. 



MY SOLDIER LOVE. 

Oh! where art thou, my soldier love? 

The rain is dripping heavily. 
The evening shades are closing in; 

The children gather round my knee. 
And merrily their voices ring, 

But I am lonely, missing thee! 

Oh! where art thou, my soldier love? 

The little ones are gone to rest, 
All but the youngest, darling dove, 

Who slumbers lightly on my breast. 
If thou wert here, thy good-night kiss 

Would on her cheek be softly pressed. 

Oh! where art thou, my soldier love? 

The pale moon climbs the midnight sky, 
Upon the woody hill above 

Our lowly home, the cool winds sigh. 
They win an answering sigh from me — 
I am so lonely, missing thee! 

My soldier love! my soldier love! 

I need no longer question now; 
I've seen the damp earth heaped above 

Thy pulseless breast, thy faded brow, 
And henceforth my .sad heart must he 
Forever lonely, missing thee! 

Mrs. M.J. E. Crawf iRii. 



MY LITTLE WIFE. 

Our table is spread for two, tonight- 
No guests our bounty share; 
The damask cloth is snowy white. 
The services elegant and bright, 
Our china quaint and rare; 
My little wife presides. 
And perfect love abide.s. 

The bread Is sponge, the butter goM, 
The muITins nice and hot, 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



27 



What though the winds without blow cold? 
The walls a little world infold, 
And the storm is soon forgot; 

In the fire-lights cheerful glow 

Beams a paradise below. 

A fairer picture who has seen? 

Soft lights and shadows blend; 
Tile central figure of the scene. 
She sits, my wife, my queen — 
Her head a little bent; 
And in lier eyes of blue 
I read my bliss anew. 

I watch her as she pours tlie tea. 

With quiet, gentle grace; 
With fingers deft, and movements free 
ohe mixes in the cream for me, 
A bright smile on her face; 
And, as she sends it up, 
I pledge her in my cup. 

"Was ever man before so blessed?" 

I secretly reflect. 
The passing thought she must have guessed. 
For now dear lips on mine are pressed, 
An arm Is round my neclc. 
Dear treasure of my life — 
God bless her! — little wife. 



WHERE IS HOME? 

Home is where affection binds 

Gentle hearts in union. 
Where the voices all are kind. 

Holding sweet communion. 

Home Is where the hearts can rest 
Safe from darkening sorrow, 

Where the friends we love the best 
Brighten every sorrow. 

Home is where the friends that love 

To our hearts are given. 
Where the blessings from above 

Makes the home a heaven. 

Tes, 'tis home where smiles of cheer 
Wreath the brows that greet us. 

And the one of all most dear 
Ever comes to meet us. 



DAN S WIFE. 

Vv in early morning light. 
Sweeping, dusting, "setting right," 
Oiling all the household springs. 
Sewing buttons, tying strings. 
Telling Bridget what to do. 
Mending rips in Johnny's shoe. 
Running up and down the stair. 
Tying baby in his chair. 
Cutting meat and spreading bread. 
Dishing out so much per head. 
Eating as she can, by chance, 
Giving hu.sband kindly glance, 
Toiling, working, busy life — 

"Smart woman, 

Dan's wife." 



Dan comes home at tall of night, 
Home so cheerful, neat, and bright, 
Children meet him at tlie door. 
Pull him in and look liim o'er, 
Wife asks how tlie work has gone — 
"Busy times witli us at liome!" 
Supper done, Dan reads at ease, 
Happy Dan, but one to please. 
Children must be put to bed: 
All their little prayers are said. 
Little shoes are placed in rows. 
Bed clothes tucked o'er little toes; 
Busy, noisy, wearing life — 

Tired woman, 

Dan's wife. 

Dan reads on and falls asleep. 
See the woman softly creep, 
Baby rests at last, poor dear. 
Not a word her heart to clieer; 
Mending basket full to top — ■ 
Stockings, shirts, and little frock — 
Tired eyes and weary brain; 
Side with darting, ugly pain — 
"Never mind, 'twill pass away"; 
She must work, but never play. 
Closed piano, unused books. 
Done the walks to cosy nooks. 
Brightness faded out of life — 

Saddened woman 

Dan's wife 

Up-staira, tossing to and fro. 
Fever holds the woman low; 
Children wander, free to play. 
When and where they will today; 
Bridget loiters — dinner's cold, 
Dan looks anxious, cross, and old; 
Household screws are out of place. 
Lacking one dear, patient face; 
Steady hand — so weak, but true — 
Hands that knew just what to do, 
Never knowing rest or play. 
Folded 'now — and laid away: 
Work of six, in one short life — 

Shattered woman, 

Dan's wife. 

.Mrs. KiTB T. Woods. 



TO A GRANDMOTHER. 

["Old age is dark and uulovely." — Ossian. J 
Oh, say not so! A bright old age is thine. 
Calm as the gentle light of summer eves. 
Ere twilight dim her dusky mantle weaves; 
Because to thee is given, in thy decline, 
A heart that does not thanklessly repine 
At aught of which the hand of God he- 
reaves. 
Yet all he sends with gratitude receives. 
May such a quiet, thankful close be mine! 
And hence thy fireside chair appears to me 
A peaceful throne — ^which thou wert formed 

to fill; 
Thy children ministers who do thy will; 
And those grandchildren, sporting round 

thy knee. 
Thy little subjects, looking up to thee 
As one who claims their fond allegiance 
still. . Bepnard Barton. 



28 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



IN THE WAY. 

Mother, God will not forsake us 

In our old days; he's a friend 
Who has hitherto proved faithful, 

And we'll trust him to the end. 
We liave passed through many trials 

And afflictions in our day, 
But the bitterest cup we've tasted. 

Is to feel we're in the way. 

We'd a pleasant Ijome with Hiram, 

Where he said we'd spend ouj- days; 
But God took the dear boy from us. 

How mysterious are his ways! 
Now that John has grown so wealthy. 

He's ashamed, or seems to be. 
Of his poor old father and mother. 

God forgive him; so will we. 

Hannah, too, our only daughter. 

Does not seem to want us there. 
And complains at the expenses. 

And that we are so much care. 
Oh, 'tis hard to be dependent 

On those even who are dear. 
And to us who are indebted; 

But God's will be done, my dear. 

When I think of all our hardships. 

Days of toil and nights of care; 
Of our many sacrifices, 

Which we were so glad to bear. 
That our children might be cultured. 

And not have to toil as we, 
It seems hard that in our old days 

We should then neglected be. 

But we will not murmuj'. Mother, 

Though our lot is hard to bear; 
For wherever He may lead us, 

^'^e can trust our Father's care. 
Though our children may forget us. 

Now we're old we'll comfort take. 
Knowing that the Lord has promised 

That he never will forsake. 

We shall reach the end, dear Mother, 

We are passing near it fast; 
We have passed the eightieth milestone. 

And I think it is the last. 
Hoping in God's grace to help us, 

Let us trust him day by day; 
And when we shall get up yonder, 

We shall not Ije in the way. 



MY MOTHER S HANDS. 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands! 

They're neither white nor small. 
And you. I know, would scarcely think 

That they were fair at all. 
I've looked on hands whose form and hue 

A sculptor's dream might be. 
Yet are those wrinkled, aged hands 

More beautiful to me. 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands! 
Though heart were weary and sad, 



These patient hands kept toiling on 
That the children might be glad. 

I always weep, as looking back 
To childhood's distant day, 

I think how those hands rested not 
W;hen mine were at their play. 

Sucli beautiful, beautiful hands! 

They're growing feeble now; 
For time and pain have left their mark 

On iiands and heart and brow. 
Alas, alas! the nearing time 

And the sad, sad day to me, 
WJien 'neath the daisies out of sight 

These hands will folded be. 

But oh! beyond this sliadow-land. 

Where all is bright and fair, 
I know full well these dear old hands 

Will palms of victory bear; 
Wliere crystal streams through endless 
years 

Flow over golden sands 
And where the old grow young again, 

I'll clasp my mother's hands. 



MOTHER S MENDING-BASKET. 

Over and under, and in and out. 

The swift little needle flies; 
For always between her and idleness 

The mending-basket lies; 
And tlie patient hands, though weary. 

Work lovingly on and on 
At tasks that never are finished; 

For mending is never done. 

She takes up the father's stocking, 

And skilfully knits in the heel. 
And smooths the seam with a tender touch, 

That he may no roughness feel; 
And her thoughts to her merry girlhood 

And her early wifehood go. 
And she smiles at the first pair of stock- 
ings 

Slie knit so long ago. 

Then she speaks to the little maiden 

Learning to knit at her side, 
And tells her about those stockings 

Uneven and shapeless and wide: 
"I had to ravel them out, my dear; 

Don't be discouraged, but try. 
And after a while you'll learn to knit 

As swift and even as I." 

She takes up a little white apron. 

And thinks of the yester morn. 
When her darling come to her crying: 

"O Mama! see what I've torn!" 
So slie mends the child's pet apron; 

Then takes up a tiny shoe, 
And fastens a stitch that is broken. 

And ties the ribbon of blue. 

The maiden has wearied of working 

And gone away to her play; 
The sun In the west Is sinking 

At the close of the quiet day. 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



29 



Now the motliers hands are resting 
Still holding a stocking of red. 

And her thoughts in the twilight shadow, 
To the far-off future have fled. 

"Oh! where will the little feet wander 

Before they have time to rest? 
W]iere will the bright heads be pillowed 

Ulien the mother's loving breast 
Is under the spring's blue violets, 

And under the summer grass, 
When over her fall the autumn leaves, 

And the storms of winter pass?" 

And a prayer from her heart she utters: 

"God bless them, my dear ones all! 
Oh! may it be many, many years 

Ere sorrow to them befall!" 
To her work from the mending-basket 

She turns with a heart at rest; 
For she knows that to husband and chil- 
dren 

She is always the first and best. 

.MBS. ^r. A. KlDHER. 



GRANDPAPA. 

Grandpapa's hair is very white. 
And Grandpapa walks but slow; 

He likes to sit still in his easy-chair, 
■Uliile the children come and go. 

"Hush! — play quietly," says Mama: 

"Let nobody trouble dear Grandpapa." 

Grandpapa's hand is thin and weak: 
It has worked hard all his days: 

A strong right hand, and an honest hand, 
That has won all good men's praise. 

"Kiss it tenderly," says JUama: 

"Let every one honor Grandpapa." 

Grandpapa's eyes are growing dim: 

They have looked on sorrow and death: 

But the love-light never went out of them. 
Nor the courage and the faith. 

"You children, all of you," says Mama, 

"Have need to look up to dear Grandpapa." 

Grandpapa's j'ears are wearing few. 
But he leaves a blessing behind — 

A good life lived, and a good fight fought, 
True heart and equal mind. 

"Remember, my children," says Mama, 

"Tou bear the name of your Grandpapa." 
Maria Mulock Craik. 



JUST LIKE A MAN. 

He sat at the dinner-table 

With a discontented frown; 
The potatoes and steak were underdone. 

And the bread was baked too brown; 
The pie was too sour and the pudding too 
sweet. 

And the roast was much too fat; 
The soup so greasy, too, and salt — 

'Twas hardly fit for the cat. 



"I wish you could eat the bread and pie 

I've seen my mother make; 
They are something like, and 'twould do 
you good 

Just to look at a loaf of her cake." 
Said the smiling wife, "I'll improve with 
age — 

Just now I'm but a beginner; 
Eut your mother has come to visit us. 

And today she cooked the dinner." 



OUR OWN. 

If I had known in the morning 
How wearily all the day 

The word unkind 

■Would trouble my mind 
I ."said when you went away, 
I had been more careful, darling^, 
Nor given you needless pain; 

But we vex "our own" 

With look and tone 
We may never take back again. 

For though in the quiet evening 
You may give me the kiss of peace, 

Yet well it might be 

That never for me 
The pain of the heart should cease. 
How many go forth in the morning 
Who never come home at night! 

And hearts have broken 

For harsh words spoken 
Tliat sorrow can ne'er set right. 

We have careful thought for the stranger, 
And smiles for the sometime guest. 

But for "our own" 

The bitter tone, 
Though we love "our ow-n" the best. 
Ah! Up with the curve impatient. 
Ah! brow with that look of scorn, 

'Twere a cruel fate. 

Were the night too late 
To undo the work of the morn. 

Margaret E. Sangstis. 



THE TIRED WIFE. 

All day the wife had been toiling. 

From an early hour in the morn. 
And her hands and her feet were weary 

With the burdens that she had bornef 
But she said to herself: "The trouble 

That weighs on my mind is this — 
That Tom never thinks to give me 

A comforting hug or a kiss. 

"I'm willing to do my duty. 

To use all my strength and skill 
In making the home attractive. 

In striving my place to fill; 
Eut though the approval of conscience 

Is sweet, I'm free to say. 
That if Tom would give me a hug and a 
kiss, 

'Twould take all the tired away." 



30 



TREASURfeS OF POETRY. 



Then she counted over and over 

The years she had been Tom's wife. 
And tliouffht of the joys and sorrows 

She had known in her married life. 
To be sure, there was money plenty. 

And never a lack of food, 
But a kiss now and tlien and a word of 
praise 

Would have done her a world of good. 

Ah, many a one is longing 

For words that are never said. 
And many a heart goes hungry 

For something better than bread. 
But Tom had an inspiration. 

And when ha went home that day, 
He petted his wife and kissed lier 

In the old-time lover-like way. 

And she — such enigmas are women! — 

Who had held herself up with pride. 
At her liusband's display of fondness 

Just hung on his neck and cried. 
And he, by her grief reminded 

Of troubles he might have shared, 
Said: "Bless my heart! What a fool I've 
been! 

And I didn't suppose you cared!" 

JosEPHiNH Pollard. 



BIRTHDAY VERSES. 

My birthday! O beloved mother! 

My heart is witli thee o'er the seas. 
I did not think to count another 

Before I wept upon thy knees. 
Before this scroll of absent years 
Was blotted with tliy streaming tears. 

My own I do not care to check. 

I weep — albeit here alone — 
As if I hung upon thy neck. 

As if thy lips were on my own. 
As if this full, sad heart of mine 
■U'ere beating closely upon thine. 

Four weary years! How looks she now? 

Wliat liglit is in those tender eyes? 
"Wliat trace of time has touched the brow 

■WHiose look is borrowed of the skies 
That listen to her nightly prayer? 
How is she changed since he was there 
Wiio sleeps upon her heart alway. 

Whose name upon her lips is worn. 
For whom the night seems made to pray, 

For whom she wakes to pray at morn. 
Whose sight is dim. whose heart-strings 

stir, 
Wtio weeps these tears — to think of her! 

I know not if my mother's eyes 

Would find me changed in slighter things; 

I've wandered beneath many skies, 
And tasted of some bitter springs; 

And many leaves, once fair and gay. 

From youth's full flower have dropped 
away ; 

But, as these looser leaves depart, 

Tie lessened flower gets near the core. 



And, when deserted quite, the heart 

Takes closer what was dear of yore. 
And yearns to those who loved it first — 
The sunshine and the dew by which its 
bud was nursed. 

Dear mother! dost thou love me yet? 

Am I remembered in thy home? 
When those I love for joy are met. 

Does some one wish that I would come? 
Thou dost — I am beloved of these! 

But as the schoolboy numbers o'er 
Night after night the pleiades 

And finds the stars he found before. 
As turns the maiden oft her token. 

As counts the miser aye his gold. 
So till life's silver cord is broken. 

Would I of thy fond love be told. 
My heart is full, mine eyes are wet — 
Dear mother! dost thou love thy long-lost 
wanderer yet? 

Oh! when the hour to meet again 

Creeps on. and. speeding o'er the sea. 
My heart takes up its lengthened chain. 

And, link by link, draws nearer thee: 
When land is hailed, and from the shore 

Comes off the blessed breath of home. 
With fragrance from my mother's door 

Of flowers forgotten when I come; 
When port is gained, and slowly now, 

The old familiar paths are passed. 
And entering — unconscious ho\A' — 

I gaze upon thy face at last. 
And run to thee, all faint and weak, 
And feel thy tears upon my cheek — 

Oh! if my heart break not with joy. 
The light of heaven will fairer seem; 
And I shall grow once more a boy: 
And, mother! — 'twill be like a dream 

That we were parted thus for years; 

And once that we have dried our tears. 

How will the days seem long and bright — 
To m.eet thee always with the morn, 

And liear tliy blessing every niglit — 
Thy "dearest." thy "flrst-born." 
And be no more, as now, in a strange land, 
forlorn! 

NATHA^'IL:^, P-iRKKB Wn.LIS. 



BABYHOOD. 

What is the little one thinking about? 
Very wonderful things, no doubt! 
Unwritten history! 
Unfathomed mystery! 
Yet chuckles and crows and nods and winks. 
As if his head were as full of kinks 
And curious riddles as any spliinx. 
Warped by colic and wet by tears. 
Punctured by pins and tortured by fears, 
Our little nephew will lose two years; 
And he'll never know 
Where the summers go — 
He need not laugh, for he'll find it so. 

Who can tell what a baby thinks? 
Who can follow the gossamer links 
By which the manikin feels his way 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



31 



Out from the shore of the great unknown, 
Blind and wailing, and alone. 

Into the light of day? 
Out from the shore of the unknown sea. 
Tossing in pitiful agony — 
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls. 
Specked with the barks of little souls — 
Barks that were launched on the other side. 
And slipped from heaven on an ebbing tide! 

What does he think of his mother's eyes? 

■WTiat does he think of his mother's hair? 
What of the cradle roof that flies 

Forward and backward through the air? 
What does he think of his mother's breast, 

Bare and beautiful, smootli, and white. 

Seeking it ever with fresh delight — 
Cup of his life and couch of his rest? 
What does he think when her quick embrace 
Presses his hand and buries his face 
Deep where the heart throbs sink and swell 
With a tenderness she can never tell. 

Though she murmur the words 

Of all the birds- 
Words she has learned to murmur well? 

Now he thinks he'll go to sleep! 

I can see the shadow creep 

Over his eyes in soft eclipse. 

Over his brow and over his lips. 

Out to his little finger-tips! 

Softly sinking down he goes! 

Down he goes! down he goes! 

See! he is hushed in sweet repose! 

JosiAH Gilbert Holland. 



HOME SONG. 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest; 
Home-keeping hearts are happiest. 

For those that wander they know not 
where 

Are full of trouble and full of care: 
To stay at home is best. 

Weary and homesick and distressed. 
They wander east, they wander west. 

And are baffled and beaten and blown 
about 

By the winds of the wilderness of doubt; 
To stay at home is best. 

Then stay at home, my heart, and rest; 

The bird is safest in its nest; 

O'er ail that flutter their wings and fly 
A hawk is hovering in the sky: 

To stay at home is best. 

Henry Wadhworth Longfellow. 



A SONG FOR THE HEARTH AND 
HOME. 

Bark is the night, and fitful and drearily 
Rushes the wind like tlie waves of the 
sea: 
Little care I, as here I sit cheerily. 
Wife at my side and my baby on knee. 
King, king, crown me the king: 



Home is the kingdom, and Love is the 
king! 

Flashes the firelight upon the dear faces. 

Dearer and dearer as onward we go. 
Forces the shadow behind us, and places 
Brightness around us with warmth in the 
glow. 
King, king, crown me the king: 
Home Is the kingdom, and Love is the 
king! 

Flashes the lovelight, increasing the glory. 
Beaming from bright eyes with warmth 
of the soul. 
Telling of trust and content the sweet 
story. 
Lifting the shadows that over us roll. 
King, king, crown me the king: 
Home is the kingdom, and Love is the 
king! 

Richer than miser with perishing treasure, 
Served witli a service no conquest could 
bring; 
Happy with fortune that words can not 
measure. 
Light-hearted I on the hearthstone can 
sing. 
King, king, crown me the king: 
Home is the kingdom, and Love is the 
king. 

William Rankin Dubtea, 



MOTHER S GROWING OLD. 

Her step is slow and weary, 

Her hands unsteady now. 
And paler still and deeper 

The lines upon her brow; 
Her meek blue eyes have faded. 

Her hair has lost its gold. 
Her once firm voice now falters: 

My mother's growing old. 

Her days of strength are over. 

Her earthly joys depart. 
But peace and holy beauty 

Are shining in her heart. 
The links that bind her spirit 

Relax their trembling hold, 
She soon will be an angel: 

Sweet mother's growing old. 

My thouglits flow back to childhood. 

When fondled on her knee, 
I poured out all my sorrows. 

Or lisped my songs of glee; 
But now upon me leaning, 

.So wearily and cold, 
With trembling lips she murmurs: 

"Dear child, I'm growing old." 

I think of all her counsels. 

So precious to my youth. 
How faithfully she taught me 

God's sacred words of truth; 
How tenderly she led ma 

To Jesus' blessed fold, 
Wliere she will soon be welcomed 

No longer bowed and old. 



32 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



The path of daily duty 

Was ever her delight; 
She walked by faith and patience. 

And trusted God for sig"ht. 
Her liands with useful labor 

Each day their mission told; 
Her deeds like heavenly roses, 

Still bloom, though she is old. 

Alas! tliose hands so skilful, 

Which toiled with loving grace 
To make me blessed with comfort, 

And Iiome a happy place — 
Those dear hands, pale and wrinkled. 

By time are now controlled; 
Tlie.v rest in prayerful quiet; 

Dear mother's growing old. 

Tet though her earthly temple 

Still failetli day by day. 
Her soul, witli faith increasing. 

Pursues its lieavenward way; 
And when the mists of Jordan, 

Shall from her sight be rolled, 
She'll shine in youth and beauty. 

Where spirits ne'er grow old. 

mother fond and faithful! 
Thou truest earthly friend, 

May I be near to sootli thee 
Wlien all thy struggles end; 

And while with sad heart yearning. 
Thy form my arms enfold, 

1 pray in peace to meet tliee 
^\Tiere saints no more grow old. 



NO PLACE FOR BOYS. 

What can a boy do, and where can a boy 
stay. 

If lie is always told to get out of the way? 

He can not sit here and he must not stand 
there: 

The cushions that cover that fine rocking- 
chair 

Were put there, of course, to be seen and 
admired, 

A boy has no business to ever be tired. 

The beautiful roses and flowers that bloom 

On the floor of the darkened and delicate 
room 

Are not made to walk on — at least, not by 
boys; 

The house is no place, any way, for tlieir 
noise. 

Yet boys must walk somewhere; and what 
if their feet. 

Sent out of our houses, sent into tlie street. 

Should step round the corner and pause at 
the door 

■Wliere other boys' feet have paused often 
before; 

Should pass through the gateway of glit- 
tering light. 

Where jokes that are merry and songs that 
are bright 

Ring out a warm welcome with flattering 
voice. 



And temptingly .say, "Here's a place for 
the boys!" 

Ah, what if they should? What il your 

boy or mine 
Should cross o'er the threshold which 

marks out the line 
'Twixt virtue and vice, 'twixt pureness and 

sin. 
And leave all his innocent boyhood within? 
Oh, what if they should, because you and I, 
WTiile the days, and the months, and the 

years hurry by. 
Are too busy with cares and with life's 

fleeting joys 
To make round our hearthstone a place 

for the boys? 

There's a place for the boys. They will 

find it somewhere: 
And if our own homes are too daintily fair 
For the touch of their fingers, the tread of 

their feet, 
They'll find It, and find it, alas! in the 

street. 
Mid the gildings of sin and the glitter of 

vice; 
And with heartaches and longings we pay 

a dear price 
For the getting of gain that our lifetime 

employ?. 
If we fail to provide a place for the boys. 

A place for the boys — dear mother, I pray. 
As cares settle down round our short 

earthly way. 
Don't let us forget, by our kind, loving 

deeds. 
To show we remember their pleasures and 

needs. 
Though our souls may be vexed with the 

problems of life. 
And worn with besetments, and toilings, 

and strife. 
Our hearts will keei) younger — your tired 

heart and mine — 
If we give them a place in their innermost 

shrine; 
And to our life's latest breath 'twill be one 

of our joys 
That we kept a small corner — a place for 

the boys. 



OFF FOR SLUMBER LAND. 

The first train leaves at six P. M., 
For the land where the poppy blows; 

The mother dear is the engineer. 

And the passenger laughs and crows. 

The palace car is the mother's arms. 
The whistle, a low, sweet strain; 

The passenger winks and nods and blinks, 
And goes to sleep in the train. 

At eight P. M. the next train starts 

For the poppy land afar; 
The summons clear falls on the ear: 

"All aboard for the sleeping-car." 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



33 



"But what is the fare to poppy land? 

I hope it is not too dear." 
"The fare is this — a hug and a Isiss — 

And it's paid to the engineer. 

So I ask of him who children took 
On his knee in kindness great, 

"Take charge, I pray, of the trains each day 
That leave at six and eight." 

"Keep watch of the passengers," thus I pray, 
"For to me they are very dear. 

And special ward, O gracious Lord, 
O'er the gentle engineer." 



I 



THE BEDTIME KISS. 

O motliers, so weary, discouraged, 

"tt'orn out with the cares of the day, 
Tou often grow cross and impatient. 

Complain of the noise and the play; 
For the day brings so many vexations. 

So many things going amiss: 
But, mothers, whatever may vex you. 

Send the children to bed with a kiss. 

The dear little feet wander often, 

Perhaps from the pathway of right; 
The dear little hands find new mischief 

To try you from morning till niglit; 
But think of the desolate mothers 

VlTio'd give all the world for your bliss, 
And, as thanks for your infinite blessings. 

Send the children to bed with a kiss. 

For some day their voice will not vex you^ 

The silence will hurt you far more; 
Tou will long for the sweet childish voices. 

For a sweet childish face at the door; 
And to press a child's face to your bosom — 

You'd give all tlie world just for this: 
For the comfort 'twill bring you in sorrow. 

Send the children to bed with a kiss. 



THE EMIGRANTS WISH. 

I wish we were hame to our ain folk. 

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk. 

Where the simple are weal, and the gen- 
tle are leal. 

And the hames are the hames o' our ain 
folk. 

We've been wi" the gay, and the gude 
where we've come. 

We're courtly wi' many, we're couthy wi' 
some: 

But something's still wantin' we never can 
find 

Sin' the day that we left our auld neebors 
beh ind. 

Oh, I wish we were hame to our ain folk. 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, 
■UHiere daffin and glee wi' the friendly and 

free 
Made our hearts aye sae fond o' our ain folk. 
Though spring had its moils, and summer 

its toils. 



And autumn craved pith ere we gatliered 

its spoils. 
Yet winter repaid a' the toil that we took, 
When ilk ane crawed crouse by his ain 

ingle nook. 

Oh, I wisli we were hame to our ain folk, 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, 
Wliere maidens and men in hall and in glen 
Still welcome us aye as their ain folk. 
They told us in gowpens we'd gather the 

gear, 
Sae sune as we cam' to tlie rich Mailins 

here. 
But what are the Mailins, or what are they 

worth. 
If they be not enjoyed in the land o' our 

birth! 

Then I wisla we were hame to our ain folk. 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk. 
But deep are the howes and high are the 

knowes. 
That keep us awa' frae our ain folk. 
The seat by the door where our auld fai- 
th ers sat. 
To tell a' the news, their views, and a' that, 
While down by the kailyard the burnie 

rowed clear, 
'Twas mair to my liking than aught that 
is here. 

Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk. 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, 
Where the wild thistles wave o'er th' 

abode o' the brave. 
And the graves are the graves o' our ain 

folk. 
But happy, sey lucky, we'll trudge on our 

way. 
Till our arm wazes weak and our haffets 

grow gray ; 
And, tho' in this world our ain still we 

miss. 
We'll meet them at last in a world o' bliss. 

And then we'll be liame to our ain folk. 
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, 
A^Tiere far 'yont the moon in the heavens 

aboon 
The hames are the hames o' our ain folk. 



I CAN NOT TURN THE KEY AND 
MY BAIRN OUTSIDE." 

fin some parts of England tbis teoder sentiment 
or custom still prevails: when one of a family has 
been buried or bas gone away, the house door is left 
unlocked for seven night;:, lest the departed might. 
in some way, fee! that he was locked out of his old 
home. 1 

"Su-spense is worse than bitter grief — 

The lad will come no more; 
Why should we lonfrer watch and wait? 

Turn the key in the door. 
From weary days and lonely nights 

The light of hope has fled; 
I say the ship is lost, good wife. 

And our bairn is dead." 



34 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"Husband, the last words that I spoke, 

Just as he left the shore, 
Were, 'Come thou early, come thou late, 

Thou'It find an open door; 
Open thy mother's heart and hand, 

Whatever else betide,' 
And so I can not turn the key 

And my bairn outside. 

"Seven years is naught to mother- love, 
And seventy times the seven; 
A mother is a mother still. 

On earth or in God's heaven. 
I'll watch for him, I'll pray for him — 

Prayer as the world is wide; 
But, oh! I can not turn the key 

And leave my bairn outside. 

"XMien winds were loud, and snow lay white, 

And storm-clouds drifted black, 
I've lieard his step — for hearts can hear; 

I know he's coming back. 
What if he came this very night, 

And he the house-door tried. 
And found that we had turned the key. 

And our bairn outside!" 

Tlie good man trimmed tlie candle-light. 

Threw on another log. 
Then, suddenly, ho said: "Good wife! 

WJiat ails — what ails the dog? 
And what ails you? 'miat do you hear?" 

She raised her eyes and cried: 
"Wide open fling the house-door now, 

For my bairn's outside!" 

Scarce said the words, when a glad hand 

Flung wide the household door. 
"Dear mother! father! I am come! 

I need not leave theo more!" 
Tliat night, the first in seven long years, 

The happy mother sighed: 
"Father, you now may turn the key. 

For my bairn's inside!" 



THE RETURN. 

I see the hills of home again. 

Again the bees are humming. 
And slowly down the scented lane, 
With measured step in single train. 

The cows at eve are coming 

I see. along the winding stream. 
The willow fringes straying. 
While in and out the waters gleam. 
Back-glowing In the sunset's beam. 
On pebbly fastness straying. 

I see, like ribbon bound about. 

The dusty highway rearing, 
And hear the schoolboys laugh and sliout. 
The children, from their tasks let out. 

In very gladness cheering. 

And soft across the echoing hill 

The sunset bells are ringing; 
Slow drips the water by the mill. 



The fretted wheel at last is still. 
And hushed the brooklet's singing. 

I wander down familiar ways, 

I look for old-time faces, 
While memory paints again the days. 
And strongly witli her touch essays 

To find the old-time places. 

I see the house where first I knew 
The summer's golden splendor: 
Here first my happy fancies grew. 
And dreams that fairyland was true. 
And life was sweet and tender. 

Strange faces meet me at the door. 

And stranger voices telling; 
And so my dream of home is o'er. 
And I shall find it never more, 
In stranger countries dwelling. 



THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 

Linger not long. Home is not home with- 
out thee; 

Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn. 
Oh, let its memory, like a chain about thee, 

Gently compel and hasten thy return! 

Linger not long. Though crowds should 
woo thy staying. 
Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy 
friends, though dear. 
Compensate for the grief thy long delaying 
Costs the fond heart that sighs to have 
thee here? 

Linger not long. How shall I watch thy 
coming. 
As evening shadows stretch o'er moor 
and dell ; 
When the wild bee hath ceased her buay 
humming. 
And silence hangs on all things like a 
spell! 

How shall I watch for thee, when fears 
grow stronger. 
As night growl dark and darker on the 
hill! 
How shall I weep, when I can watch no 
longer. 
Ah! art thou absent, art tliou absent 
still? 

Yet I should grieve not, though the eye 
that seeth me 
Gazeth through tears that make its splen- 
dor dull; 
For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art 
with me. 
My cup of happiness is all too full. 

Haste, haste thee home to thy mountain 
dwelling, 
Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest! 
Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide 
and swelling, 
Flies to its haven of securest rest! 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



35 



TOO MANY OF WE. 

"Mama, is there too many of we?" 
The little girl asked with a sigh. 

"Perhaps you wouldn't be tired, you see. 
If a few of your childs could die" 

She was only three years old — the one 
Who spoke in that strange, sad way. 

As she saw her mother's impatient frown 
At the children's boisterous play. 

There were half a dozen who round lier 
stood, 

And the mother was sick and poor, 
Worn out with the care of the noisy brood 

And the fight with the wolf at the door. 

For a smile or a kiss, no time, no place — 
For the little one, least of all; 

And the shadow that darkened the mother's 
face 
O'er the young life seemed to fall. 

More thoughtful than any, she felt more 
care. 
And pondered in childish way 
How to lighten the burden she could not 
share. 
Growing heavier day by day. 

Only a week, and the little Clare 
In her tiny white trundle-bed 

Lay witli blue eyes closed, and tlie sunny 
hair 
Cut close from the golden head. 

"Don't cry." she said — and the words were 
low. 

Feeling tears that she could not see — 
"You won't have to work and be tired so 

When there ain't so many of we." 

But the dear little daughter who went away 
From the home that for one was stilled. 

Showed the mother's heart from that dreary 
day, 
Wliat a place she had always filled. 



HOME AGAIN. 

Home again! Mother, you.r boy will rest. 
For a time, at least, in the old home nest. 
How good to see you in your cornered nook. 
With knitting or sewing, or paper or book. 
The same sweet mother my boyhood knew. 
The faithful, the patient, the tender and 
true. 

Tou have little changed: ah. well, maybe 
A few gray hairs in the brown I see, 
A mark or two under smiling eyes. 
So lovingly bent in your glad surprise: 
'Tis I who have changed, ah, mother mine. 
From a teasing lad to manhood's prime. 

No longer I climb on your knee at night 
For a story told in the soft fire-light; 



No broken slate or book all torn 
Do I bring to you with its edges worn; 
But I'll come to you with my graver cares; 
You'll help me bear them with tender 
prayers. 

I'll come again as of old, and you 
Win help the man to be brave and true; 
For the man's tlie boy. only older grown. 
And the world has many a stumbling-stone. 
Ah, mother mine, there is always rest, 
When I find you here in the old home nest. 
ABBia C. M'Keeveb. 



GOOD-BY — GOD BLESS YOU!" 

I love the words — perhaps because 

When I was leaving Mother, 
Standing at last in solemn pause. 

We looked at one another. 
And I — I saw in Mother's eyes 

The love she could not tell me — 
A love eternal as the skies, 

Whatever fate befell me; 
She put her arms about my neck. 

And soothed the pain of leaving. 
And, though her heart was like to break. 

She spoke no word of grieving; 
She let no tear bedim her eye, 

For fear that might distress me, 
But, kissing me, she said good-by. 

And asked our God to bless me! 

EuciExa Field. 



THE HOME CONCERT. 

Well, Tom, my boy, I must say good-by; 

I've had a wonderful visit here. 
Enjoyed it, too, as well as I could 

Away from all that my heart holds dear. 
Maybe I've been a trifle rough — 

A little awkward, your wife would say — 
And very likely I've missed the hint 

Of your city polish, day by day. 

But somehow, Tom, though the same old 
roof 

Sheltered us both when we were boys. 
And the same dear mother-love watched us 
both. 

Sharing our childish griefs and joys, 
Yet you are almost a stranger now; 

Your ways and mine are as far apart 
As though we never had thrown an arm 

About each other with loving heart. 

Your city home is a palace. Tom: 

Your wife and children are fair to see: 
Tou couldn't breathe in the little cot, 

The little home that belongs to me. 
.And I am lost in your grand large house. 

And dazed with the wealth on every side, 
And I hardly know my brother. Tom. 

In the midst of so much stately pride. 

Tes, the concert was grand last night. 
The singing splendid; but. do you know, 



36 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



My heart kept longing the evening through, 
For another concert, so sweet and low 

That maybe it wouldn't please the ear 
Of one so cultured and grand as you; 

But to its music — laugh if you will — 
My lieart and thoughts must ever be true. 

I shut my eyes in tlie hall last night 

(For the clash of tlie music wearied me) 
And close to my heart this vision came — 

Tlie same sweet picture I always see: 
In the vine-clad porch of a cottage-home, 

Half in shadow and half in sun, 
A mother chanting her lullaby. 

Rocking to rest her little one. 

And soft and sweet as the music fell 

From the mother's lips I heard the coo 
Of my baby girl, as with drowsy tonguo 

She echoed the song with "Goo-a-goo." 
Together they sang, the mother and babe. 

My wife and child, by the cottage door. 
Ah! that is the concert, brother Tom, 

My ears are aching to hear once more. 

So now, good-by. And I wish you well. 

And many a year of wealth and gain 
Tou were born to be rich and gay; 

I am content to be poor and plain. 
And I go back to my country home 

With a love that absence has strength- 
ened, too — 
Back to the concert all my own — 

Mother's singing, and baby's coo. 

,\IiiiT D. BniNE. 



A HOME SONG. 

I turned an ancient poet's book, 

And found upon the page: 
"Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Xor iron bars a cage." 
Yes, that is true, and something more; 

You'll find, where'er you roam. 
That marble floors and gilded walls 

Can never make a home; 
But every house where Love abides 

And Friendship is a guest. 
Is surely home, and home, sweet home, 

For there the heart can rest. 



THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. 

Oh! the old, old clock, of the household 
stock 

Was the brightest thing and the neatest; 
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, 

And its chime rang still the sweetest. 
'Twas a monitor, too; though its words 
were few. 

Yet they lived though nations altered; 
And its voice, still strong, warned old and 
young, 

■When the voice of friendship faltered; 
"Tick, tick," it said — "quick, quick to bed — 

For nine I've given warning; 
Up, up and go, or else, you know, 

You'll never rise soon in the morning" 



A friendly voice was tliat old, old clock 

As it stood in the corner smiling. 
And blessed the time, with a merry chime. 

The wintry hours beguiling; 
But a cross old voice was that tiresome 
clock 

As It called at daybreak boldly. 
When the dawn looked gray on the misty 
way. 

And the early air blew coldly; 
"Tick, tick," it said — "quick out of bed — 

For five I've given warning; 
You'll never have Iiealth, you'll never get 
wealth. 

Unless you're up soon in the morning." 

Still hourly the sound goes round and 
round. 

With a tone that ceases never; 
Wliile tears are shed for the bright days 
fled 

And the old friends lost forever; 
Its heart beats on, though hearts are gone 

That warmer beat and younger; 
Its hands still move, though hands we love 

Are clasped on earth no longer! 
"Tick, tick," it said — "to the churchyard 
bed— 

The grave liath given warning; 
Up, up and rise, and look to the skies, 

And prepare for a heavenly morning!" 



DON T FORGET THE OLD FOLKS. 

Nay, don't forget the old folks, boys — 

they've not forgotten you; 
Though years liave passed since you were 

home, the old Iiearts still are true. 
And not an evening passes by they haven't 

the desire 
To see your faces once again and hear 

your footsteps nigher. 

You're young and buoyant, and for you 

Hope beckons with her hands 
And life spreads out a waveless sea that 

laps but tropic strands; 
The world is all before your face, but let 

your memories turn 
To where fond hearts still cherish you and 

loving bosoms yearn. 

No matter what your duties are nor what 
your place in life. 

There's never been a time they'd not as- 
sume your load of strife; 

And shrunken shoulders, trembling hands, 
and forms racked by disease 

Would bravely dare the grave to bring to 
you the pearl of peace. 

So don't forget the old folks, boys — they've 

not forgotten you; 
Though years have passed since you were 

home the old hearts still are true; 
And write them now and then to bring the 

light into their eyes, 
And make the world glow once again and 

bluer gleam the skies. 

Will T. Bal«. 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



37 



THE LUCKY CALL. 

A country curate visitins his flock, 
At old Rebecca's cottage gave a knock. 
"Good morning:, dame, I mean not any libel, 
But in your dwelling have you got a Bi- 
ble?" 
"A Bible, sir?" exclaimed she in a rage; 
"D'ye think I've turned a pagan in my age? 
Here Judith, and run up-stairs, ray dear, 
'Tis in the drawer; be quick and bring It 

here." 
The girl returned with Bible in a minute- • 
Not dreaming for a moment wliat was in 

it— 
Wlien lol on opening it at parlor door, 
Down fell her spectacles upon the floor. 
Amazed she stared, was for a moment 

dumb, 
But quick exclaimed: "Dear sir, I'm glad 

you're come! 
'Tis six years since these glasses first were 

lost, 
And I have missed "em to my poor eyes' 

cost!" 
Then as the glasses to her nose she raised, 
She closed the Bible — -saying, "God be 

praised!" 



OUR MOTHER. 

Mother's so good to us, what can we do? 

How can we ever repay her? 
Oh, 'twould be better for me and for you, 

Were we more prompt to obey her — • 
Ready to lighten her burdens of care. 

Ready our tempers to smother. 
Striving each day, in a delicate way, 

To prove our affection for mother. 

Mother has always been thoughtful and 
kind. 

On the lookout for our pleasure; 
Deep in the heart are her children en- 
shrined. 

None her devotion can measure. 
Wliat can we do in return for this love. 

Faithful and fond as no other? 
Can we ever forget how deeply in debt 

We always must be to our mother? 

Mother's so patient, so quick to excuse 

Each little weakness and failing. 
Ready her comforting powers to use 

When we are troubled or ailing. 
Teaching us more by example than words 

Truly to love one another; 
And in return how we should yearn 

To care in her old age for our mother. 

Mother's so good to us. day after day. 

Giving us tender protection: 
Oh, how the thought of her kindness should 
sway 
Ever the heart's recollection! 
Yet there are many who treat her with 
scorn. 
Grateful emotions they smother. 



And angels — ali, me! — must weep when 
they see 
How cruel they are to their mother. 

Better for us to be thoughtful and kind 

To motlier, dear, while she is living; 
Better for us that we bear her in mind, 

Kisses and sympathy giving; 
Than after lier presence is missed from the 
home 

And slie's gone from this world to another. 
To weep and lament, and with anguish re- 
pent. 

Of the way we neglected our mother. 



SPEAK GENTLY. 

Gently, mother, gently, 

Cliida thy little one. 
'Tis a toilsome journey 

It has just begun; 
Many a darksome valley. 

Many a rugged steep. 
Lieth in its pathway, 

And full oft 'twill weep: 
Oh, then gently, gently. 

Kindly, mother, kindly. 

Speak in tender tone: 
That dear child, remember. 

Echoes back thine own. 
Teach in gentle accents, 

feach in words of love, 
Let the softest breezes 

Its own heart-strings move: 
Kindly, mother, kindly. 

Wouldst thou have the setting 

Of a gem most fair. 
In a crown of beauty 

It were thine to wear? 
Mother, train with caution 

That dear little one. 
Guide, reprove, and ever 

I,et the work be done 
Gently, mother, gently. 



MAKE CHILDHOOD SWEET. 

Wait not till the little hands are at rest 
Ere you fill them full of flowers; 

Wait not for the crownin.g tuberose 
To make sweel the last sad hours; 

But while in the busy household band 

Your darlings still need your guiding hand. 
Oh, fill their lives with sweetness! 

Walt not till the little hearts are still 
For the loving look of praise; 
And while you gently cliide a fault. 
The good deed kindly praise. 
The word you would speak beside the bier 
Falls sweeter far on the living ear: 
Oil, fill young lives with sweetness! 

Ah. what are kisses on cold clay lips 
To the rosy mouth we press. 



38 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



WTien our wee one flies to her mother's 
arms 
For love's tenderest caress! 
Let never a worldly babble keep 
Tour heart from the joy each day should 
reap. 
Circling young lives with sweetness. 

Give thanks each morn for the sturdy boys, 
Give thanks for the fairy girls; 

With a dower of wealth like this at home, 
Would you rifle the earth for pearls? 

Wait not for Death to gem Love's crown, 

But dally shower life's blessings down. 
And fill young hearts with sweetness. 

Remember the homes wliere light has fled. 

Where the rose has faded away; 
And the love that ,i;lows in youthful hearts. 

Oh, cherish it while you may! 
And make your home a garden of flow'rs, 
WTiere joy shall bloom through childhood's 
hours, 

And fill young hearts with sweetness. 



THE OLD COUPLE. 

The old man sits, with folded arms, 

In his easy-chair today; 
His happy wife, with crossed palms. 
Hums snatches from the olden psalms 

In a cheerful kind of way. 

'Tis sweet to see this aged pair, 

Who have loved so lon.g and well. 
Each other's joys so fondly share. 
And every little grief and care 
Alike each bosom swell. 

'Tis fifty years since they were wed, 

Just fifty years today; 
They have outlived the early dead. 
But age has bowed each silvery head — 

They soon will pass away. 

Well may their dim and faded eyes 

O'erflow with pearly tears 
As visions of the past arise, 
And memory on its mission flies 

Back to those early years. 

A.gain they tread the villa.sje green. 
Where in infancy they played, 

O'erjoyed at the familiar scene. 

Until a shadow comes between. 
And happy visions fade. 

Then comes a gleam of later years, 

Of friends so tried and true, 
Who sympathized in all their fears, 
And wiped away their bitter tears, 

And made their sorrows few. 

"Where are they now," the old man cries, 

"The cherished friends of yore?" 
Pointing to the arching skies. 
The good wife tearfully replies, 
"They are all gone before. 



"And soon our days will ended be; 

We've nearly readied the shore: 
We've sailed upon life's stormy sea 
I'\ir nearly fourscore years and three; 

Our journey's almost o'er." 



TELL HER SO. 

Amid the cares of married life. 
In spite of toil and business strife, 
If you value your sweet wife, 
Tell her so! 

Prove to her you don't forget 
The bond to which the seal is set; 
She's of life's sweets the sweetest yet- 
Tell her so! 

When days are dark and deeply blue, 
She has her troubles, same as you; 
Show her that your love is true — 
Tell her so! 

There was a time you thought it bliss 
To get the favor of one kiss; 
A dozen now won't come amiss — 
Tell her so! 

Tour love for her is no mistake — 
Tou feel it, dreaming or awake — 
Don't conceal it. For her sake. 
Tell lier so! 

Don't act, if she has passed her prime, 
As though to please her were a crime; 
If e'er you loved her, now's the time — 
Tell lier so! 

She'll return, for each caress, 
An hundredfold of tenderness! 
Hearts like hers were made to bless — 
Tell )!er so! 

Tou are hers and hers alone; 
Well you know slie's all your own. 
Don't wait to "carve it on a, stone" — 
Tell her so! 

Never let her heart grow cold — 
Richer beauties will unfold; 
She Is worth her weight in gold! 
Tell her so! 



MATERNITY. 

Can it be really I who, lying here 

Upon my pillow in such sweet content, 
May claim and wear the crown of "Mother- 
hood," 
Bestowed by this wee gift, from heaven 
sent? 
Ah! only yesterday these arms of mine 
Were empty, and there lay upon my 
breast 
No baby head, no tiny clinging form 
For my enfolding — cuddling into rest; 



THE HOME CIRCLE. 



39 



I had not known the rapture, and the thrill 
Which stir within a woman's heart when 
she 
Beholds life's sweetest gift, and knows at 
last 
That bliss which quickens with Mater- 
nity! 
And — yesterday I had not learned to croon 
A lullaby, nor known beneath life's skies 
The swelling joy which now lies deep 
within 
My heart, while baby on my bosom lies; 
And she is mine! Oh, wondrous miracle. 
Which has unto my life new gladness 
wrought, 
Tho' thro' deep waters I was made to pass 
To win the crown my little one has 
brought! 

O God, thou Giver of this precious gift, 
Help me to fail not in thy trust in me; 

That pure and spotless, when this life is 
o'er. 
My loved and I rise to Eternity. 



WHOSE FAULT? 

If men were a little more tender 

To women — more faithful and true — 
They would not care for a larger share 

Of work in the world to do. 
If homes were a blessed refuge, 

T\'here loving was at its best. 
The better part of a woman's heart 

■Would cling to its peace and rest. 

There never yet was a woman 

Who did not hunger alone 
For the love denied and the manly pride 

Who cherished her for his own; 
■Who would not give wealth and power 

And the glittering things of life 
For love-lit eyes, for the priceless prize. 

The crown of mother and wife. 

EMilA PLAYTEB SeaBTJRT. 



WHAT MAKES HOME. 

Home's not merely four square walls, 
Though with pictures hung and gilded; 
Home is where affection calls. 

Filled with shrines the heart hath 
bullded. 
Home! Go watch the faithful dove 

Sailing 'neath the heaven above us; 
Home is where there's one to love. 

Home is where there's one to love us. 

Home's not merely roof and room, 

Needs it something to endear it; 
Home is where the heart can bloom. 

Where there's some kind lip to cheer it 
W^hat is home with none to meet, 

Xone to welcome, none to greet us? 
Home is sweet, and only sweet. 

Where there's one we love to meet us. 



HOME. 

A man can build a mansion 

And furnish it throughout; 
A man can build a palace, 

With lofty walls and stout; 
A man can build a temple. 

With high and spacious dome; 
But no man in the world can build 

That precious thing called Home. 

It is the happy faculty 

Of woman far and wide. 
To turn a cot or palace 

Into something else beside — 
Where brothers, sons, and husbands tired. 

With willing footsteps come; 
A place of rest, where love abounds, 

A perfect kingdom — Home. 



THE BRAVEST BATTLE. 

The bravest battle that ever was fought. 
Shall I tell you where and when? 

On the map of the world you will find it 
not — 
It was fouglit by the mothers of men. 

Not with cannon or battle shot, 

■^tth sword or mightier pen; 
Not with wonderful word or thought 

From the lips of eloquent men. 

But deep in some patient mother's heart, 
A woman who could not yield. 

But silently, cheerfully bore her part, 
Aye, there is the battle-fleld. 

No marshaling troop, no bivouac song. 
No banners to flaunt and wave, 

But, oh! their battles they last so long — 
From the cradle e'en to the grave. 



MY HAPPY HOME. 

Coming home in the cold, gray twilight. 

Over the lonesome way. 
With heart and brain overburdened 

By the worry and care of the day; 
Tired from the struggle of living. 

And glad for the night to come, 
I turn the corner, and there I see 

The light of my happy home. 

And worry and care forsake me. 

And weariness finds its rest; 
■UTlth quickened footsteps I hurry on 

To the place I love the best. 
For I know that some one is waiting. 

And looking out through the gloom, 
Down over the lonesome roadway. 

And wishing for me to come. 

And, hastening on, I remember 

The days of long ago. 
The golden dreams of my youth time, 

The triumph I was to know. 



40 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Witli same and fortune to conquer, 
And all life's blessings to come; 

But the only dream that ever came true 
Is this, my own sweet home. 

And what were all the others — ■ 

Ambition, and power, and fame? 
The wealth of the Indies would leave me 
poor, 

And fame were an empty name, 
Without the love of my darling wife, 

My baby and my home. 
I can ask no greater happiness 

Than to my lot has come. 

What matters a day of labor. 

When the rest is sweet at night! 
What matters how dark the roadway 

That leads to my own home-light? 
What matters the wide world's favor 

That never to me may come, 
WHien my wife and baby are waiting 

And watching to welcome me home? 



THANKSGIVING REST. 

The busy year has ceased its toil. 

Its peaceful hour of twilight won; 
Its leaves and bloom are laid away, 

Its webs of shade and luster spun; 
The fleeces of the fields are shorn. 

The fruitage gathered from the bough ; 
The fervor of the sun is lost — 

The weary world is resting now. 

As gloaming lies 'twixt day and dark. 

There comes a little space between 
Tlie bitter wastes of winter snow 

And autumn's matchless gold and green; 
And though the world be chill without. 

In this late twilight of the year, 
Tlie gray month bears a jeweled link — 

A day of liappiness and cheer. 

Sn, troubled Marthas of the land. 

Unbind the burden of your woes; 
Recall tlie words the Savior spoke; 

Seek out the part that Mary chose. 
Sit down, in peace, beside your hearth; 

Let fretting sorrows drift away. 
And take unto your weary hearts 

The lesson of Thanksgiving Day. 

IlATTis Whitney. 



THE CRY OF THE MOTHER. 

My life is so narrow, so narrow, environed 

by four square walls. 
And ever across my threshold the shadow 

of duty falls. 
My eyes wander oft to the hilltops, but 

ever my heart stoops down 
In a passion of love to the babies that 

helplessly cling to my gown. 

In the light of the new day dawning I see 

an Evangel stand. 
And to fields that are ripe for the harvest, 

I am lured by a beckoning hand; 



But I have no place witli the reapers, no 
part in tiie soul-stirring strife: 

I must hover my babes on the hearth-stone 
and teach them the lessons of life. 

1 must answer their eager questions with 

God-given words of truth ; 
I must guide them in ways of wisdom, 

through childhood and early youth; 
I must nourish their souls and their bodies 

with infinite, watchful care; 
Taiie thought of the loaves and the fishes 

and the raiment that tliey must wear. 

But at night when the lessons are over, 
and I cuddle each sleep.\' head; 

When the questions are asked and an- 
swered, and the last little prayer is 
said ; 

When the fruitless unrest has vanished 
that fretted my soul through the day, 

Tiien I kneel in the midst of my children 
and humbly and thankfully pray: 

"Dear Lord, when I stand with the reapers 
before thee at set of the sun, 

WJren tlie sheaves of the harvest are gar- 
nered, and life and its labor are done, 

I sliall lay at thy feet these my children — 
to my heart and my garments they 
cling; 

I may not go forth with the reapers, and 
these are the sheaves that I bring." 

I.izzia Clarke-Habdt. 



HOME LIFE. 

If the children find not love within. 
And a golden chain to bind it. 

Of words of cheer and kisses dear. 
They'll go outside to find it. 

If home lacks Joys, our girls and boys 
Will seek them elsewhere, mind it. 

For the blood is warm in growing limbs. 
And leaps to tuneful measures, 

Wliile hearts in rhyme, at childliood's time. 
Beat high for wholesome pleasures; 

Right merry feet, and voices sweet. 
Have they, our household treasures. 

If the fire burns low, and ashes lie 
Broadcast, as one might sow it, 

With naught complete, or fair, or neat. 
The little ones first know it: 

A child's young lieart has at the start 
The instinct of the poet. 

Then let us fan the home blaze high. 

And set the place in order. 
Decking the rooms with rosy blooms 

And heart's-ease for the border, 
Taking good care to match each snare 

And bar out grim disorder. 

Thus may we keep our jewels safe — • 
The children God hath given — 

And train them right, in paths of light. 
Each day of all tlie seven. 

Till by and by, beyond the sky. 
We find the gate of heaven. 

Mrs. M. a. Kidou. 



THE HOME CIRCLE— Memories of Home. 



H 



MEMORIES OF HOME 



MY MOTHERS BIBLE. 

This book is all that's left me now: 

Tears will unbidden start; 
With faltering lip and throbbing brow, 

I press it to my heart. 
For many generations past, 

Here is our family tree: 
My mother's hands this Bible clasped; 

She, dying, gave it me. 

Ah! well do I remember those 

Whose names these records bear, 
Wtio round the hearthstone used to close 

After the evening prayer, 
And speak of what these pages said, 

In tones my heart would thrill; 
Though they are with the silent dead. 

Here are the living still. 
My father read this holy book 

To brothers, sisters, dear; 
How calm was my poor mother's look. 

Who loved God's Word to hear! 
Her angel face — I see it yet! 

Wliat thronging memories come! 
Again that little group is met 

Within the halls of home. 

Thou truest friend man ever knew. 

Thy constancy I've tried ; 
When all were false, I found thee true, 

My counselor and guide. 
The mines of earth no treasures give 

That could this volume buy; 
In teaching me the way to live. 

It taught iTie how to die. 

Georgb p. mobbls. 



MY FATHERS VOICE IN PRAYER. 

In the silence that falls on ray spirit 

When the clamor of life loudest seems, 
Comes a voice that floats in tremulous notes 

Far over my sea of dreams. 
I remember the dim old vestry. 

And my father kneeling there; 
And the old hymns thrill with the memory 
still 

Of my father's voice in prayer. 

I can see the glance of approval 

As my part in the hymn I took; 
I remember the grace of my mother's face. 

And the tenderness of her look; 
And I knew that a gracious memory 

Cast its light on that face so fair. 
As her cheek fluslied faint — O mother, my 
saint! — 

At my father's voice in prayer. 

'Neath the stress of that marvelous plead- 
ing 
All childish dissensions died; 



Each rebellious will sank conquered and still 

In a passion of love and pride. 
Ah, the years have held dear voices. 

And melodies tender and rare; 
But tenderest seems the voice of my 
dreams — 
My father's voice in prayer. 

Mai Hastings NoxrAGi!. 



THE SONGS THAT MOTHER SUNG. 

Go sing the songs you cherish well, 

Each ode and simple lay; 
Go chord the notes till bosoms swell 

With strains that deftly play. 
All. all are yours to sacred keep 

Your choicest treasures 'mong. 
But leave for me, till mem'ries sleep. 

The songs that mother sung. 

When life's dark pseans, plaintive round, 

Fall 'cross the weary way. 
To bring in soughing, mournful sound 

The dirge of dismal day. 
Then softly back lost strains will steal. 

From cradle anthem rung. 
To drown the woes that sorrows feel. 

In songs that mother sung. 

W^hen mirth and sadness — as they will — 

Recall those times agone, 
To wake the mem'ries lingering still 

Mid life's bright morning dawn; 
Then, dreaming vivid, 'bove the rest, 

Aa when our childhood clung, 
W'G lie and listen, on her breast. 

The songs that mother sung. 

And when the ebb of eventide. 

Afar across the strand. 
Sets out to where the billows ride. 

Beyond life's shifting sand. 
In lost refrain, above the roar 

Of mad, mad waters flung. 
Oh, back, bring back to me once more 

The songs that mother sung! 



RAIN ON THE ROOF. 

Wtien the humid shadows hover 

Over all the starry spheres. 
And the melancholy darkness 

Gently weeps in rainy tears, 
Wlhat a bliss t» press the pillow 

Of a cottage-chamber bed. 
And to listen to the patter 

Of the soft rain overhead! 

Every tinkle on the shingles 
Has an echo in the heart; 

And a thousand dreamy fancies 
Into busy being start, 



4^; 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And a thousand recollections 

Weave their air-threads into woof, 

As I listen to the patter 
Of the rain upon the I'oof. 

Now in memory comes my mother, 

As slie used, in years ayone, 
To regard the darling dreamers 

Ere she left them till the dawn: 
So I see her leaning o'er me, 

As I list to this refrain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

Then my little seraph sister. 

With the wings and waving hair. 
And her star-eyed cherub brother — 

A serene angelic pair — 
Glide around my wakeful pillow, 

With their praise or mild reproof, 
As I listen to the murmur 

Of the soft rain on the roof. 

And another comes, to thrill me. 

With her eyes' delicious blue; 
And I mind not, musing on her. 

That her heart was all untrue: 
I remember but to love her 

Witli a passion kin to pain. 
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate 

To the patter of the rain. 

Art hath naught of tone or cadence 

That can work with such a spell 
In the soul's mysterious fountains, 

Wlience the tears of rapture well, 
As that melody of nature. 

That subdued, subduing strain 
^Tiich is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

Go&TBS Kinney. 



CHERISHED MEMORIES. 

Treasured deep in memory's casket. 

Is a gem that glitters bright. 
And it shines with twofold splendor 

As I sit alone tonight 
Musing in the gathering twilight 

While the shadows come and go: 
I am thinking of my mother 

And the happy long ago. 

Oh, how well do I remember 

When a happy child so free. 
Knowing naught of care or sorrow; 

Home was all the world to me. 
Were I sick or tired and weary. 

Quickly I to mother came; 
For her gentle, fond caresses 

Were a balm for every pain. 

Day by day with patience toiling. 

Busy at the spinning-wheel. 
Stopping not for rest, though weary, 

Life to her had grown so real; 
When she felt her burdens heavy 

And the nearer waters roll, 
I could hear her sweetly singing 

"Jesus lover of my soul." 



Then when niglit had spread her mantle. 

And our fond good-night was said. 
She would gently tuck the cover 

Round my little trundle-bed; 
Duties of the day all ended, 

"Wlien the house w-as calm and still. 
Seated by the tallow candle. 

Plied her needle with a will. 

This was long ago, dear mother. 

And your child is growing old; 
Time has left its lines of care 

On the brow once crowned with gold; 
Tes, old Time is bearing onward 

Down the stream my little bark; 
Still the sweet words of the poet 

Find an echo in my heart: 

"Backward, turn backward, O Time in your 

flight; 
Make me a child again, just for tonight." 

Lues M. Lewis. 



THE OLD HOME. 

In vain we strive to keep the tears 
From falling as we turn to face 
The dear old home, the dwelling-place 

Of ours for many happy years. 

A spirit seems to whisper low 

In language quaint, sublime, and queer, 
"How can you leave without a tear 

The old home of the long ago?" 

The old, old home where happy hours 
Were often passed in childish play, 
WHiere memories sweet did pass away 

Beneath time's overwhelming powers. 

We turn to go, yet linger nigh. 
Unwilling still to leave the place 
Which time alone will soon efCace 

Beyond the sight of any eye. 

Again we look, and through our tears 
The purest feelings of the heart 
Awake to life, and quickly start 

Adown the mystic flight of years. 

Again we walk in childhood's prime, 
Viewing the bright scenes as of old: 
Our mother's form we do behold 

With gladness, for she seems sublime. 

Our father, working near the door. 
Has given leave that we depart; 
And now our tear-drops qudckly start, 

For now we leave forevermore. 

Yes, we must go; our mind is set 
On something dearer yet to find! 
The dear old home we leave behind 

^Ith "one pure image of regret." 

O blessed place of rest, farewell! 

We leave thee with our hopes and fears 
To sail adown the fleeting years 

To some fair isle where seraphs dwell- 

Adieu, thou peaceful realm of light, 
Along the gulf of time we stray; 




Couriesj .,f (■ K. K^'i-v^-, An 



THE HOME CIRCLE— Memories of Home. 



43 



We'll think of thee when far away — 
We'll think of thee with glaU delight. 

Farewell! in leaving, all the years 
Of happy childhood quick return: 
Farewell! farewell! we yet may learn 

Of something grander for our tears. 

Old home, adieu! yet as we roam 
Far from thy peaceful vale of rest. 
We can not hope to be more blest 

Than we were in our dear old home! 

HuwARii C. TRirr. 



WHEN I WAS A BOY. 

Up in the attic where I slept 

When I was a boy. a little boy! 
In through the lattice the moonlight crept, 
Bringing a tide of dreams that swept 
Over a low, red trundle-bed. 
Bathing the tangled curly head, 
While the moonbeams played at hide and 

seek 
With the dimples on the sun-browned 

cheek — 
When I was a little boy! 

And oh! the dreams — the dreams I dreamed 
When I was a boy, a little boy! 

For the grace that tlirough the lattice 
streamed 

Over my folded eyelids seemed 

To have the gift of prophecy. 

And to bring the glimpses of time to he 

■WHien manhood's clarion seemed to call — 

Oh: that was the sweetest dream of all. 
When I was a little boy! 

I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep 

When I was a boy, a little boy! 
For in at the lattice the moon would peep, 
Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep 
The crosses and griefs of the years away 
From the heart that is weary and faint to- 
day; 
And those dreams should give me back 

again 
A peace I have never known since then — 
When I was a boy. a little boy! 



THE OLD MAN BY THE WAYSIDE. 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone, 
Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly musing; 

Oft I marked him sitting there alone. 

All the landscape like a page perusing: 
Poor, unknown — 

By the \vayside, on a mossy stone. 

Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed 
hat. 
Coat as ancient as the form 'twas folding. 
Silver buttons, queue, and crimpt cravat, 
Oaken staff his feeble hand upholding. 
There he sat: 
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed 
hat. 



Seemed it pitiful he should sit there. 
No one sympathizing, no one heeding. 

None to love him, for his thin gray hair. 
And the furrows all so mutely pleading 
Age and care: 

Seemed it pitiful he should sit there. 

It was summer, and we went to school. 
Dapper country-lads and little maidens. 

Taught the motto of the "Dunce's stool" 
(Us grave import still my fancy ladens) — 
"Here's a fool!" 

It was summer, and we went to school. 

■yiHien the stranger seemed to mark our play. 

Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted; 
I remember well, too well, that day! 

Oftentimes the tears unbidden started. 
Would not stay. 
When the stranger seemed to mark our play. 

One sweet spirit broke the silent spell; 

Ah! to me her name was always heaven! 
She besought him all liis grief to tell 

(I was then thirteen, and she eleven) — 
ISABEL! 
One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. 

"Angel," said he sadly, "I am old; 

Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow: 
Yet why I sit here thou shalt be told." 

Tlien liis eye betrayed a pearl of sorrow: 
Down it rolled! 
"Angel," said he sadly, "I am old, 

"I have tottered here to look once more 
On the pleasant scene where I delighted 

In the careless, happy days of yore. 

Ere the garden of my heart was blighted 
To the core: 

I have tottered here to look once more. 

"All the picture now to me how dear! 

E'en tliis gray old rock where I am seated 
Is a jewel worth my journey here. 

Ah, that sucli a scene must be completed 
With a tear! 
All the picture now to me so dear! 

"Old stone schoolhouse! it is still the same! 

There's tlie ver.v step I so oft mounted; 
There's the window creaking in its frame. 

And the notches that I cut and counted 
For the game: 
Old stone schoolhouse! it is still the same! 

"In the cottage yonder I was born; 

Long my happy home that humble dwell- 
ing; 
There the fields of clover, wheat, and corn; 
There the spring, with limpid nectar 
swelling. 

Ah, forlorn! 
In the cottage yonder I was born. 

"There's the orchard where we used to 
climb 
When my mates and I were boys together. 



44 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Tliinking nothing of the flight of time. 
Fearing naught but work and rainy 
weather — 

Past its prime! 
There's the orchard where we used to climb. 

"There's the mill that ground our yellow 
grain; 
Pond and river still serenely flowing; 
Cot, there nestling in the .shaded lane, 

Wliere the lily of my heart was blowing — 
Mary Jane! 
There's the mill that ground our yellow 
grain. 

"There's the gate on which I used to swing, 
Brook and bridge, and barn, and old red i 
stable; 
But, alas! no more the morn shall bring 
That dear group around my father's ta- 
ble- 
Taken wing! 
There's the gate on which I used to swing. 

"I am fleeing! all I loved are fled! 

Ton green meadow was our place for 
playing: 
That old tree can tell of sweet things said 
Wlien around it Jane and I were straying: 
She IS dead! 
I am fleeing! all I loved are fled! 

"Ton white spire — a pencil on the sky. 
Tracing silentlj' life's changeful story — 

So familiar to my dim old eye. 

Points me to seven that are now in glory 
There on high! 

Ton white spire — a pencil on the sky. 

"Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. 
Guided thither by an angel mother; 

Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod. 
Sire and sisters, and my little brother; 
Gone to God! 

Oft the aisle of that old cliurch we trod. 

"Tliere I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways: 
Bless the holy lesson! but, ah, never 

Shall I hear again those songs of praise, 
Those sweet voices, silent now forever! 
Peaceful days! 

There I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways. 

"There my Mary blessed mo with her hand, 
When our souls drank in the nuptial 
blessing, 
Ere she hastened to the spirit-iand; 
Tender turf her gentle bosom pressing: 
Broken band! 
There my Mary blessed me with her hand. 

"I have come to see that grave once more. 
And the sacred place where we delighted, 

■Where we worshiped in the days of yore. 
Ere the garden of my heart was blighted 
To the core! 

I have come to see tliat grave once more. 

"Angel," said he sadly, "I am old; 

Eartlily hope no longer liatli a morrow: 



Now, why I sit here thou hast been told.' 
In his eye another pearl of sorrow; 
Down it rolled! 
"Angel," .said he sadly, "I am old." 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone. 

Sat the hoary pilgrim sadly musing; 
Still I marked him sitting there alone. 
All the landscape like a page perusing: 
Poor, unknown — 
By the wayside, on a mossy stone! 

Ralph IIott. 



FRIENDS OF LONG AGO. 

■^\"lien I sit in the twilight gloaming. 

And the busy streets grow still, 
I dream of the wide, green meadows 

And the old house on the hill; 
I can see the roses blooming 

About the doorway low; 
Again my heart gives greeting 

To the friends of long ago- 
Dear long ago! 

I can see my mother sitting 

With life's snowflakes in her hair. 
And she smiles above her knitting, 

And her face is saintly fair; 
And I see my fatlier reading 

From the Bible on his knee. 
And again I hear iiim praying 

As he used to pray for me — 
So long ago! 

I see all the dear old faces 

Of the boys and girls at home, 

As I saw them in the dear old days 
Before we learned to roam; 

And I sing the old songs over 

With the friends I u.sed to know; 

And my heart forgets its sorrow 
In its dream of long ago — 

Dear long ago! 

How widely our feet have wandered 

From our old liome's tender ties! 
Some are beyond the ocean, 

And some are beyond the skies. 
My heart grows sad with thinking 

Of the friends I used to know; 
Perhaps I shall meet in heaven 

All the loved ones of long ago — 
Dear long ago! 



WHEN MOTHER PRAYED. 

Somehow God always seemed so real. 
Somehow I could not doubt, nor feel 
That God was ever far away. 
When I could hear my mother pray; 
Somehow when she would kneel in prayer, 
God always seemed to meet her there. 

■Ulien she would kneel beside my bed. 
With her dear hands upon my head. 
My little heart would cease to fear. 



THE HOME CIRCLE— Memories of Home. 



45 



And God would seem to come so near; 
Somehow, someway, when Mother prayed, 
I could not, dared not, feel afraid. 

And when she prayed for him to keep 
Me through the nisht, and give me sleep 
And rest until tlie break of day, 
I felt that it must be, someway; 
That round about me was his arm. 
And he could keep nie safe from harm. 

When Mother prayed! O precious liour, 
When God would come in ^mighty power! 

memory sweet! O hallowed place 
Wliere God did shine in Mother's face! 
Somehow in prajer she found such rest; 
Somehow her soul God always blest. 

When Mother prayed! All, then I knew 
Within my soul that God is true: 

1 could no longer doubt his love; 
And, yielding all, born from above. 
My soul was filled with peace divine. 
And mother's God was thenceforth mine 

Melvillb Miller. 



THANKSGIVING. 

O men, grown sick with toil and care. 

Leave for a while the crowded mart; 
O women sinking with despair. 

Weary of limb and faint of heart. 
Forget your years today and come 
As children back to childhood's home. 

Follow again the winding rills; 

Go to the places where you went 
Wlien. climbing up the summer hills. 

In their green laps you sat content. 
And softly leaned your head to rest 
On Nature's calm and peaceful breast. 

Walk through the sere and fading wood, 
So slightly trodden by your feet. 

When all you knew of life was good. 
And all you dreamed of life was sweet, 

And ever fondly looking back 

O'er youthful love's enchanted track. 

Taste the ripe fruits from the orchard 
boughs; 

Drink from the mossy well once more; 
Breathe fragrance from the crowded mows 

With fresh, sweet clover running o'er; 
And count the treasures at your feet. 
Of silver rye and golden wheat. 

Go sit beside the hearth again. 

Whose circle once was glad and gay: 

And if, from out the precious chain, 
Some shining links have dropped away. 

Then guard with tender heart and hand 

The remnant of thy household band. 

Draw near the board with plenty spread, 
.\nd if, in the accustomed place, 

Tou see the father's reverend head. 
Or mother's patient, loving face, 

Whate'er your life maj- have of ill. 

Thank God that these are left you still. 



And though where home has been you stand 

Today in alien loneliness; 
Though you may clasp no brother's hand. 

And claim no sister's tender kiss: 
Though with no friend nor lover nigh. 
The past is all your company, — 

Thank God for friends your life has known, 

F^or every dear, departed day ; 
The blessed past is safe alone — • 

God gives, but does not take away; 
He only safel.v keeps above 
For us the treasures that we love. 

Phoebh Cakt. 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my 

childhood, 
Wlien fond recollection presents them to 

view! 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled 

wildwood. 
And every loved spot which my infancy 

knew; 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill 

which stood by it. 
The bridge, and the rock where the cata- 
ract fell; 
The cot of my father, the dairy -house 

nigh it. 
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in 

the well — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound 

bucket. 
The moss-covered bucket which liunT in the 

well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treas- 
ure; 
For often, at noon, when returned from 
the field, 

I found it the source of an exquisite pleas- 
ure. 
The purest and sweetest that nature can 
yield. 

How ardent I seized it, with hands that 
were glowing! 
How quick to the white-pebbled bottom it 
fell; 

Then soon, witli the emblem of truth over- 
flowing^'. 
And dripping with coolness, it rose from 
the well — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound 
bucket. 

The moss-covered bucket arose from the 
well. 

How sweet from the green mossy brim to 
receive it. 
As, poised on the curb, it inclineil to my 
lips! 
Xot a full blushing goblet could tempt me 
to leave it, 
Though filled with the nectar that Jupi- 
ter sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved situa- 
tion. 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell. 



46 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



As fancy reverts to my father's plantation. 
And sighs for the bucket which hangs 

in the well — 
The old oaken bucket, tlie iron-bound 

bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which liang-s in 

the well. 

SAMT-Er- WOODWOKTH. 



THE PICTURE FANCY PAINTED. 

An old man dreaming sits. His streaming 

locks 
Are whitened by the Hecks of foaming spray 
Prom oft the crested waves of passing years. 
That ebb and flow on Time's tempestuous 

sea, 
Whose waters separate the fairy-land 
Of far-oft childhood from life's sunset-land. 
The murm'ring breezes softly whisper as 
They gently blow from oft that distant 

shore 
Of life's sweet Springtime Land, and, 

blending with 
The sad, sweet m\isic of the murm'ring sea, 
Tlie long-forgotten songs of childhood sing 
In silvery cadence, soft, and sweet and low. 
And lull, with golden symphonies from 

chords 
Of memories long forgot, the wearied brain 
And heart and soul to dreamland's sweet 

repose. 
And by the rose-winged messengers of sleep. 
And through the mystic mazes of dreamland. 
He back transported was across the gulf 
Of Time's relentless sea, to that sweet 

realm — 
The fairy-land of childhood's happy days. 



He. dreaming, sits upon the hilltop's once 
Familiar brow, where stands the old log 

home — 
To him a palace now, because it holds 
Life's sweetest memories; and form so dear 
Of a sweet mother, whose unchanging love, 
Like golden sunbeam, gilded life's pathway 
Through childhood's happy years. Before 

him now, 
He sees the old, loved scenes of years 

agone. 
At foot of hill, and in its sliadow deep. 
At sunset's hour, tliere stands the silent 

mill. 
And from it flows, o'er pebbly bottom bright. 
The little streamlet, bearing on its breast 
A flood of old-time memories so dear. 
Beyond it lies, like dimpled smile upon 
The placid face of guileless innocence, 
The little meadow with its nodding plumes 
Of gold and purple flowers, and sweet per- 
fume — 
A gem of Nature's setting in the crown 
Of the old home! Beyond the meadow's rim, 
In shadow of the overhanging trees. 
The more majestic river calmly flows — 
A silvery framework for the picture dear. 
In Memory's chamber hanging, and which 
tide 



Of passing years can not deface nor dim. 

And as he dreaming sits, and lives again 

Amid the scenes to which the golden chain 

Of memory binds his heart and soul, a 

strange 
Poetic fire and ardor sweetly thrill 
His being, and the inspiration, felt 
By artists who to canvas liave transferred 
Their golden-glowed conceptions rare and 

pure. 
Fills mind and soul, and he an artist is. 
With rare conception, execution true. 
The inspiration of liis magic touch. 
To spotless canvas tiie loved picture gives: 
The rude, log liome; the gently sloping hill; 
The pebbled-bottomed brooklet at its base; 
The flower-decked meadow with its gilded 

rim 
Of silvery waters, and the grand old trees. 
Deep in whose shadow's heard the river's 

flow. 
Ah! sweet the picture, and so true complete; 
i 'Twas Art with Nature vieing. But just then 
' The Master Artist of the universe, 

Witli rainbow tints, and sunsets' golden 

glow 
And mellowed liues, touched topmost 

brandies of 
The grand old forest trees. Then with the 

hand 
Of inspiration, cjuick the golden hues 
To canvas were transferred. And as he 

gazed 
Admiringly upon his work, a hand 
Upon each shoulder tlien was gently laid; 
Two soft and dimpled arms stole lovingly 
About his neck, and bending o'er him then, 
With face and form angelic and divine, 
Was his soul's idol, who, with holy kiss 
Sealed her pure heart's devotion deep and 

true. 

J. B. Peickett. 



MY LOST YOUTH. 

Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is seated by the sea. 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town. 
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thouglits of youth are long, long 
tlioughts." 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees. 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
Tlie sheen of the far-surrounding seas. 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 

And the burden of that old song. 
It murmurs and whispers still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

I remember the black wharves and the slips, 
And the sea-tides tossing free; 



THE HOME CIRCLE— Memories of Home. 



i7 



And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships, 
And the magic of the sea. 

And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the shore. 

And the fort upon tlie hill; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar; 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er. 
And the bugle w-ild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youtli are long, long 
thoughts." 

I remember the sea-fight far away — 
How it thundered o'er the tide! — 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
Tn their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil 
bay. 
Where they in battle died. 

And the sound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

I can see the breez>" dome of groves. 

The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a Sabbatli sound, as of 
doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 

And the verse of that sweet old song. 
It flutters and murmurs still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 

Across the school-boy's brain: 
The song and the silence in the heart. 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 

And the voice of tiiat fiiful song 
Sings on, and is never still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

There are tilings of which I may not speak; 
There are dreams that can not die; 
There are thoughts that make the strong 

heart weak. 
And bring a pallor into the cheek. 
And a mist before the eye. 

And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of >'0uth are long, long 
thoughts." 

Stranee to me now are the forms I meet 

When I visit the dear old town; 
But the native air is pure and sweet. 
And the trees that o'ershadow each well- 
known street. 



As they balance up and down. 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still: 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

-*.nd Deering's Woods are fresh and fair. 

And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander there. 
And among the dreams of the days that 
were, 
I find my lost youth again. 

And strange and beautiful song. 
The groves are repeating it still; 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." 

HEXRT WaDSWOHTH LONCrELLOW. 



IN THE FIRELIGHT. 

The fire upon the hearth is low, 

And there is stillness everywhere; 
Like troubled spirits, here and there 

The firelight shadows fluttering go, 

And as the shadows round me creep, 
A childish treble breaks the gloom. 
And softly from a further room 

Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep." 

And, somehow, with that little prayer 
And that sweet treble in my ears, 
My thouglit goes back to distant years. 

And lingers with a dear one there; 

And as I hear the child's amen. 

My mother's faith comes back to me; 
Crouched by her side I seem to be. 

And mother holds my hands again. 

Oh, for an hour in that dear placel 
Oh, for the peace of that dear time! 
Oh, for that childish trust sublime! 

Oh, for a glimpse of mother's face! 

Yet, as the shadows round me creep, 
I do not seem to be alone — 
Sweet magic of that trembling tone. 

And, "Now I lay me down to sleep!" 

EVGENIl FlKLD. 



MY MOTHER S VOICE. 

My motlier's voice! how often creep 
Its accents on my lonely hours, 

Like healing sent on wings of sleep. 
Or dew to the unconscious flowers! 

I can forget her melting prayer 

Wliile leaping pulses madly fly. 
But in the still, unbroken air. 

Her gentle tone comes stealing hy; 
And years and sin and folly flee. 
And leave me at my mother's knee. 
The evening hours, the birds, the flowers. 

The starlight, moonlight, all that's meet 
For heaven in this lost world of ours. 

Remind me of her teachings sweet. 
My heart is harder, and perhaps 

My thoughtlessness hath drunk up tears. 



48 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And there's a mildew in the lapse 

Of a few swift and checkered years; 
But nature's book is even yet 
With all my mother's lessons writ. 

I have been out at eventide 

Beneath a moonlisrht sky of spring, 
When earth was garnished like a bride, 

And night had on lier silver wing; 
When bursting leaves, and diamond grass, 

And waters leaping to the light. 
And all that makes the pulses pass 

Witli wilder sweetness thronged the 
nigh t ; 
\A1ien all was beauty; then have I, 

With friends on whom my love is flung, 
Like myrrh on winds of Araby, 

Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung; 
And when the beau.tiful spirit there 
Flung over me its golden chain. 
My mother's voice came on the air 

Like the light dropping of the rain. 
And resting on some silver star 

The spirit of a bended knee, 
I've poured out low and fervent prayer 

That our eternity might be 
To rise in heaven, like stars at night, 
And tread a living patli of light. 

I have been on the dewy hills 

Wlian night was stealing from the dawn. 
And mist was on the waking rills, 

And tents were delicately drawn 
In the gray east; when birds were waking, 

^\'ith a low murmur in the trees. 
And melody by fits was breaking 

Upon the whisper of the breeze; 
And this when I went forth, perchance. 
As a worn reveler from the dance; 
And when the sun sprang gloriously 

And freely up, and hill and river 
Were catching upon wave and tree 

The arrows from his subtle quiver, — 
I say a voice has thrilled me then. 

Herald on the still and rushing light. 
Or, creeping from the lonely glen 

Like words from the departing night, 
Hath stricken me; and I have pressed 

On the wet grass my fevered brow, 
And pouring forth the earliest, 

First prayer, with which I learned to bow. 
Have felt my mother's spirit rush 

Upon me as in by-past years. 
And, yielding to the blessed gush 

Of my ungovernable tears. 
Have risen up, the gay, the wild, 
Subdued and humble as a child, 

Nathanikl Parker Willis. 



THE SPRING DOWN IN THE DELL. 

Though years have glided like a dream 

Since I stood by thy side, 
Yet still, thou little rippling stream, 

I've thought of thee with pride. 
And bless thee, as I bless thee now: 

Oh! I remember well 
How thou didst cool my fevered brow, 

Dear spring down in the dell. 



On many a golden summer hour 

I laid me down to rest 
Where every wind would throw a shower 

Of blossoms on my breast; 
The spangled flowers grew around: 

Oh! I remember well 
The mossy rocks, the velvet ground. 

The spring down in the dell. 

Thy waters sparkled in my cup. 

And flashed along the rim. 
And when I raised it gladly up, 

And broke its dimpled brim, 
Far sweeter than the Samian wine — • 

Oh! 1 remember well — 
Was that bright crystal wave of thine. 

Dear spring down in the dell. 

And, mirrored in thy mimic glass, 

I've watched the artless grace 
Of many a dark-eyed village lass, 

As she did kiss thy face; 
And I have envied thee thy lot — 

Oh ! I remember well 
Thou wilt not, canst not, be forgot. 

Sweet spring down in the dell. 

J. W. OrSBALL. 



THE OLD ARMCHAIR. 

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare 
To chide me for loving that old armchair? 
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize; 
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed 

it with sighs. 
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my 

heart; 
Not a tie will break, not a link will start. 
Would ye learn the spell? — A mother sat 

there: 
And a sacred thing is that old armchair. 

In childhood's hour I lingered near 
The liallowed seat with listening ear; 
And gentle words that mother would give. 
To fit me to die and teach me to live. 
She told me shame would never betide. 
With truth for my creed and God for my 

guide; 
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer 
As I Icnelt beside that old armchair. 

I sat and watched her many a day 
When her eye grew dim and her locks were 

gray; 
And I almost worshiped her when she 

smiled. 
And turned from her Bible to bless her 

child. 
Tears rolled on; but the last one sped — ■ 
My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled; 
I learned how much the heart can bear. 
When I saw her die in that old armchair. 

'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now 
With quivering breath and throbbing brow. 
'Twas there she nursed me; 'twas there 

she died: 
And memory flows with lava tide. 



THE HOME CIRCLE— Memories of Home. 



49 



Say it Is folly, and deem me weak. 
While the scalding drops start down my 

cheek; 
But I love it, I love it; and can not tear 
My soul from a mother's old armchair. 

KLiZA Cook. 



THE BOOK MV MOTHER READ. 

I have it yet, the dear old book 

That lay upon the stand. 
In which she often used to look, 

And always at her hand; 
The corners rounded are with age. 

The leaves are worn and thin. 
And dim the lines on many a page 

She so delighted in. 

A half-hours rest in household toil 

For needed strength she caught. 
And in the light of fragrant oil 

She found the place she sought; 
And heavy labor turned to love. 

And duty led away 
To visions of the land above. 

A Sabbath-hour each day. 

The book remains more sacred still 

Because of her dear eyes, 
That saw therein Gods wondrous will 

And saw not otherwise; 
For thus she found a way to Him 

Who down to evening late, 
And through the valley, lone and dim, 

Brought her to His dear gate. 

DWIGHT WlLUAUS. 



GRANDMA S HOME. 

I am thinking of a cottage 

In a quiet rural dell. 
And a brook that ran beside it. 

That I used to love so well. 
I have sat for hours and listened 

As it rippled at my feet. 
And I thought no other music 

In the world was half so sweet. 

There are forms that flit before me. 

There are tones I yet recall; 
But the gentle words of Grandma, 

Still I prize the most of all. 
In her loving arms she held me, 

And beneath her patient care, 
I was borne away to dreamland, 

In her dear old rocking-chair. 

I am thinking of a promise 

That I made when last we met; 

'Twas a rosy summer twilight 
That I never shall forget, 

"Grandma's going home," she whispered, 
".\nd the hour is drawing nigh. 



Only say that you will meet me 
In our Father's house on high." 

She was looking down upon me; 

For a moment all was still; 
Then I answered, with emotion, 

"By the grace of God I will!" 
How she clasped me to her oosom! 

And we bowed our heads in prayer, 
\\Ttere we oft had knelt together — 

By her dear old rocking-chair. 

She has passed the vale of shadows 

She has crossed the narrow sea. 
And beyond the crystal river 

She is waiting now for me; 
But in fancy I behold her; 

Once again we kneel in prayer. 
While my heart repeats its promise 

By her dear old rockinp-chair. 



EVENING ON THE RIVER. 

[From "Evangelinp."] 

Softly the evening came. The sun from 

the western horizon 
Like a magician extended his golden wand 

o'er the landscape; 
Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water 

and forest 
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted 

and mingled together. 
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with 

edges of silver, 
moated the boat, with its dripping oars, on 

the motionless water. 
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inex- 
pressible sweetness. 
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred 

fountains of feeling 
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies 

and waters around her. 

Then from a neighboring thicket the mock. 

ing-bird, wildest of singers. 
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that huns 

o'er the water. 
Shook from his little throat such floods of 

delirious music 
That the whole air and the woods and the 

waves seemed silent to listen. 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; 

then soaring to madness. 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel :>t 

frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful. 

low lamentation; 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung 

them abroad in derision. 
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind 

through the tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain In a crystal 

shower on the branches. 

Heney Wadswobth Lokofbllow. 



NARRATIVE 

and 
DESCRIPTIVE 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



33 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave. 
In a vale in tlie land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave; 
And no man dug that sepulcher. 

And no man saw It e'er. 
For the "sons of God " upturned the sod. 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth; 
But no man heard the trampling. 

Or saw the train go forth. 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done. 
And the crimson streak on ocean's clieek 

Grows Into the great sun — 

Noiselessly as the springtime 

Her crown of verdure weaves. 
And all the trees on all tlie hills 

Open their thousand leaves; 
So, without sound of music. 

Or voice of them that wept. 
Silently down from the mountain's crown 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle. 

On gray Beth-peor's height, 
Out of his rocky eyry 

Looked on the wondrous sight; 
Perchance the lion stalking 

Still shuns that hallowed spot; 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades in the war. 
With arms reversed, and muffled drum. 

Follow the funeral car. 
They show the banners taken. 

They tell his battles won, 
And after him lead his masterless steed, 

■Wlhilo peals the minute-gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

Men lay tlie sage to rest, 
And give the bard an honored place. 

With costly marble dre.«t — 
In the great minster transept. 

Where lights like glories fall. 
And the sweet choir sings, and the organ 
rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword; 
This, the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen. 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 



And had he not high honor? 

The hillside for his pall. 
To lie in state while angels wait. 

With stars for tapers tall, 
And the dark rock-pines like tossing: plumes 

Over his bier to wave. 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land. 

To lay him in the grave! 

In that deep grave without a name. 

Whence his uncofflned clay 
Shall break again — ■ most wondrous 
thought — 

Before the judgment-day. 
And stand, witli glory wrapped around. 

On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife that won our Itfe 

With the Incarnate Son of God. 

O lonely tomb in Moab's land! 

O dark Beth-peor hill! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours. 

And teacli them to be still. 
God hath his mysteries of grace 

Ways that we can not tell; 
And hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him he loved .so well. 

Mbb. C F. Alexandbh. 



THE FOOLS PRAYER. 

The royal feast was done; the king 

Sought some new sport to banlsii care. 

And to his Jester cried, "Sir Fool, 

Kneel down, and make for us a prayer?" 

The jester doffed his cap and bells. 
And stood the mocking court before; 

They could not see the bitter sraiJe 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 

He bowed his head, and bent his knee 
Upon the monarch's silken stool; 

His pleading voice arose: "O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool! 

"No pity. Lord, could change the heart 
From red with wrong to white as wool; 

The rod must heal the sin; but. Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool I 

" 'Tis not by guilt the onward sroeep 
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; 

'Tis by our follies that so long 

We hold the earth from heaven away 

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire. 
Go crushing blossoms without end; 

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust 
Among the heart-strings of a friend. 

"The ill-timed truth we might have kept — 
Who knows how sharp it pierced And 
stung! 



54 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



The word we had not sense to say — 
Who knows how grandly it had rung! 

"Our faults no tenderness should ask. 
The chastening stripes must cleanse them 
all; 

But for our blunders — oh! in shame 
Before the eyes of Heaven we fall. 

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; 

Men crown Mie knave and scourge the tool 
That did his will; but thou, O Lord, 

Be merciful to me, a fool!" 

"Hhe room was hushed; in silence rose 
The king, and sought his gardens cool, 

And walked apart, and murmured low, 
"Be merciful to me, a fool!" 

E. R. Sill. 



THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. 

Outstretched beneath the leafy shade 
Of Windsor forest's deepest glade, 

A dying woman Jay; 
Three. little children round her stood, 
And there went up from the greenwood 

A woeful wail that day. 

."O mother!" was the mingled cry, 
"O mother, mother! do not die, 

And .teave us all alone" 
"My blessed babes!" she tried to say. 
But the faint accents died away 

In a low sobbing moan. 

And then, life struggling hard with death, 
And fast and strong she drew her breath, 

And up she raised her head; 
And, peering through the deep wood maze 
W^ith a long, sharp, unearthly gaze, 

"Will she not come?" she said. 

Just then the parting boughs between, 
A little maid's light form was seen, 

All breathless with her speed; 
And following close a man came on 
(A portly man to look upon) 

Wlio led a panting steed. 

"Mother!" the little maiden cried. 

Or e'er she reached the woman's side, 

And kissed her clay-cold cheek, 
"I have not idled in the town. 
But long went wandering up and down. 

The minister to seek. 

"They told me here, they told me there — 
I think they mocked me everywhere; 

And when I found his home. 
And begged him on ray bended knee 
To bring his book and come with me. 

Mother! he would not come. 

"I told him how you dying lay. 
And 'couId not go in peace away 

Without the minister; 
I begged him, for dear Christ his sake, 
Buit oh, my heart was fit to break — 

Mother! he would not stir. 



"So though ray tears were blinding me, 
I ran back, fast as fast could be. 

To come again to you; 
And here — close by — this squire I met, 
\Mio asked, so mild, what made me fret; 

And wlien I told him true — 

" 'I will go with you, child,' he said, 
'God sends me to this dying bed' — 

Mother, he's here, hard by." 
■\\niile thus the little maiden spoke. 
The man, his back against an oak. 

Looked on with glistening eye. 

The bridle on his neck hung free. 

With quivering flank and trembling knee. 

Pressed close his bonnj- baj'; 
A statelier man, a statelier steed, 
Never on greensward paced, I rede. 

Than those stood there that day. 

So while the little maiden spoke, 
Tlie man, his back against an oak, 

Looked on with glistening eye 
And folded arms, and in his look 
Something tliat, like a sermon-book. 

Preached, "All is vanity." 

But when tlie dying woman's face 
Turned toward him with a wishful gaze, 

He stepped to where she lay; 
And, kneeling down, bent over her. 
Saying, "I am a minister. 

My sister! let us pray." 

And well, withouten book or stole, 
(God's words were printed on his soul!) 

Into the dying ear 
He breathed, as 'twere an angel's strain, 
The things that unto life pertain, 

And death's dark shadows clear. 

He spoke of sinners' lost estate. 
In Christ renewed, regenerate; 

Of God's most blessed decree 
That not a single soul should die 
Who turns repentant, with the cry, 

"Be merciful to me." 

He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil. 
Endured but for a little while 

In patience, faith, and love, 
Sure, in God's own good time, to be 
Exchanged for an eternity 

Of happiness above. 

Then as the spirit ebbed away, 

He raised his hands and eyes to pray 

That peaceful it might pass; 
And then — the orphan's sobs alone 
Were heard, and they knelt, ever.v one 

Close round on the green grass. 

Such was the sight their wandering eyes 
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise, 

Who reined their coursers back. 
Just as they found the long astray, 
WJio, in the heat of chase that day. 

Had wandered from their track. 

But each man reined his pawing steed. 
And lighted down, as if agreed. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



55 



In silence at his side. 
And there, uncovered all, they stood — 
It was a wholesome sight and good 

That day for mortal pride- 

For of the noblest of the land. 

Was that deep-hushed, bareheaded band; 

And central in the ring. 
By that dead pauper on the ground 
Her ragged orphans clinging round, 

Knelt their anointed king.* 

Robert Southei. 



THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 

Jerusalem! Jerusalem! 

Thou art low! thou mighty one. 
How is the brilliance of thy diadem. 

How is the luster of thy throne, 
Rent from thee, and thy sun of fame 

Darkened by the shadowy pinion 
Of the Roman bird, whose sway 
All the tribes of earth obey. 

Crouching 'neath his dread dominion, 
And the terrors of his name! 

How is thy royal seat — whereon 

Sat in days of yore 
Lowly Jesse's godlike son. 
And the strengUi of Solomon, 
In those rich and happy times 

When the ships from Tarshish bore 

Incense, and from Ophir's land. 

With silken sail and cedar oar. 

Wafting to Judea's strand 

All the wealth of foreign climes — 

How is thy royal seat o'erthrown! 

Gone is all thy majesty! 

Salem! Salem! city of kings. 
Thou sittest desolate and lone. 

Where once the glory of the Most High 
Dwelt visibly enshrined between the 
wings 
Of Cherubim, within whose bright em- 
brace 
The golden mercy-seat remained: 
Land of Jehovah! view that sacred placo 
Abandoned and profaned! 

Wail, fallen Salem, "W'ail! 

Mohammed's votaries pollute thy 
fane: 
The dark division of thine holy veil 
Is rent in twain! 
Thrice hath Sion's crowned rock 
Seen thy temple's marble state, 
.Awfully, serenely great. 

Towering on his sainted brow, 
Rear its pinnacles of snow: 
Thrice, with desolating shock, 

Down to earth hath seen it driven 
From his heights, which reach to 
heaven! 

Wall, fallen Salem, Wail! 

Though not one stone above another 
There was left to tell the tale 

Of the greatness of thy story, 



•George III. 



Yet the long lapse of ages can not 
smother 
The blaze of thine abounding glory; 
Which through the mist of rolling years. 
O'er history's darkened page appears. 
Like the morning star, whose gleam 

Gazeth through the waste of night, 
^liat time old Ocean's purple stream 

In his cold surge hath deeply laved 
Its ardent front of dewy light. 

Oh! who shall e'er forget thy bands, 
which braved 
The terrors of tlie desert's barren reign. 
And that strong arm which broke the chain 
WBierein ye foully lay enslaved. 
Or that sublime Theocracy which paved 
Tour way through ocean's vast domain. 
And on, far on to Canaan's emerald plain 
Led the Israelitish crowd 
With a pillar and a cloud? 

Signs on earth and signs on high 
Prophesied thy destiny; 

A trumpet's voice above thee rung, 
A starry saber o'er thee hung; 
Visions of fiery armies, redly flashing 
In the many-colored glare 
Of the setting orb of day; 
And flaming chariots fiercely dashing. 
Swept along the peopled air. 
In magnificent array; 
The temple doors, on brazen hinges crash- 
ing. 
Burst open with appalling sound, 
A wondrous radiance streaming round! 

"Our blood be on our heads!" ye said: 

Such your awless imprecation: 
Full bitterly at length 'twas paid 
Upon your captive nation! 
Arms of adverse legions bound thee, 
Plague and pestilence stood round 

thee; 
Seven weary suns had brightened 

Syria's sky. 
Yet still was heard the unceasing cry. 
"From south, north, east, and west a 
voice, 
Woe unto thy sons and daughters! 
Woe to Salem! thou art lost!" 
A sound divine 
Came from the sainted, secret inmost 

shrine: 
"Let us go hence!" — and then a noise — 
The thunders of the parting Deity 
Like the rush of countless waters. 
Like the murmur of a host! 

Though now each glorious hope be 
blighted. 
Yet an hour shall come, when ye. 
Though scattered like the chaff, shall be 
Beneath one standard once again 
united; 
When your wandering race shall 
Prostrate at the dazzling throne 
Of your high Almighty Lord, 
The wonders of his searchless 
Word, 
The unfading splendors of his Son! 
Alfred Tennyson, 



56 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 

The night-wind with a desolate moan swept 

by; 
And the old shutters of the turret swung 
Screaming- upon their hinges; and the moon. 
As the torn edges of the clouds (lew past, 
Struggled aslant the strained and broken 

panes 
So dimly that the watchful eye of death 
Scarcely was conscious when it went and 

came. 
The fire beneath his crucible was low: 
Yet still it burned; and ever as his tlioughts 
Grew insupportable, he raised himself 
Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals 
With difficult energy; and when the rod 
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye 
Pelt faint within its socket, he shrunk back 
Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips 
Muttered a curse on death. The silent room. 
From its dim corners, mockingly gave back 
His rattling breath; the humming: In the 

Uro 
Had the distinctness of a knell; and when 
Duty the antique horologe beat one, 
He drew a phial from beneath his head, 
And drank. And instantly his lips com- 
pressed. 
And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame. 
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat 
Upright, and communed with himself: 

"I did not think to die 
Till I had finished what I had to do: 
1 thought to pierce the eternal secret 
through 

With this my mortal eye. 
I felt — O God! it seemeth even now 
This can not be the death-dew on my brow! 

"And yet it is: I feel 
Of this dull sickness at my heart, afraid! 
And in my eye the death-sparks flash and 
fade; 

And something seems to steal 
Over my bosom like a frozen hand, 
Binding Its pulses with an icy band. 

"And this is death! But why 
Feel I this wild recoil? It can not be 
The immortal spirit shuddereth to be free! 

Would it not leap to fly. 
Like a chained eaglet at its parent's call? 
I fear, I fear that this poor life is all! 

"Tet thus to pass away! 
To live but for a hope that mocks at last; 
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast. 

To waste the light of day. 
Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, 

thought. 
All that we have and are, for this — for 
naught! 

"Grant me another year, 
God of my spirit! — hut a day — to win 
Something to satisfy this thirst within! 

I would know something here! 
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken! 
Speak for n.e but one word that is unspoken! 



"Vain! vain! my brain is turning 
With a swift dizziness, and my heart grow s 

sick, 
And these hot temple-throbs come fast and 
thick. 
And I am freezing- — burning — 
Dying! O God, if I might only live! 
My phial! — ^Ha! it thrills me! — I revive! 

"Ay; were not man to die. 
He were too mighty for this narrow sphere! 
Had he but time to brood on knowledge 
here. 
Could he but train his eye. 
Might he but wait the mystic word ami 

hour. 
Only his Maker would transcend his power! 

"Earth has no mineral strange, 
The illimitable air no hidden wings. 
Water no quality in covert springs. 

And fire no power to change. 
Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell. 
Which the unwasting soul might not com- 
pel. 

"Oh, but for time to track 
The upper stars into the pathless sky. 
To see the invisible spirits eye to eye, 

To hurl the lightning back, 
To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls, 
To chase Day's chariot to the horizon-walls! 

"And more, much more; for now 
The life-sealed fountains of my nature 
move 
To nurse and purify this human love; 

To clear the godlike brow 
Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down. 
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved 
one! 

"This were indeed to feel 
The soiil-thirst slaken at the living stream — 
To live — O God! that life is but a dream! 

And death — aha! I reel — 
Dim — dim — I faint — darkness comes o'er 

my eye — 
Cover me! save me! — God of heaven! I die!" 

'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. 
No friend had closed his eyelids, and his 

lips. 
Open and ashy pale, the expression wore 
Of his death-struggle. His long, silvery 

hair 
Lay on his hollow temples, thin and wild. 
His frame was wasted and his features wan 
And haggard as with want; and in his palm 
His nails were driven deep, as If the throe 
Of the last agony had wrung him sore. 

The storm was raging still. The shutter." 
swung 
Screaming as harshly in the fitful wind. 
And all without went on, is aye it will. 
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart 
Is breaking or has broken, in its change. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



57 



The fire beneath the crucible was out; 
The vessels of his mystic art lay round, 
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand 
That fashioned them: and the small rod, 
Familiar to his toucli for threescore years. 
Lay on the alembic's rim, as if it still 
Misht vex the elements at its master's will. 

f 
And thus had passed from its unequal 
frame 
A soul of fire; a sun-bent eagle, stricken 
From his high soaring down; an instrument 
Brolten with its own compass. Oh, how poor 
Seems the rich gift of genius when it lies, 
Like the adventurous bird tiiat liath out- 
flown 
His strength upon the sea, ambition- 
wrecked! 
A thing the thrush mi^lit pity, as she sits. 
Brooding in quiet on !\er lowly nest. 

Natiianiki, Vaukkh WILI.18. 



DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on 

the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple 

and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars 

on the sea, 
Wlien the blue wave rolls nightly on deep 

Qalilee. 

Like the leaves of tlie forest when summer 

is green. 
That host with their banners at sunset 

were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn 

hath blown. 
That host on the morrow lay withered and 

strowiL 

For the angel of death spread his wings 
on the blast. 

And breathed on tlie face of the foe as 
he passed. 

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly 
and chill. 

And their hearts but once heaved, and for- 
ever grew still. 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all 

wide. 
But through it there rolled not the breath 

of his pride; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on 

the turf. 
And cold as the spray of tlie rock-beaten 

surf. 

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on 

his mail; 
And tlie tents were all silent, the banners 

alone. 
The lances unllfted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud In their 
wall. 



And the idols are broken In the temple of 

Baal; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by 

the sword. 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the 

Lord. 

LOBD BIBON. 



BABYLON. 

I!ow, daughter of Babylon, bow thee to 

dust! 
Thine heart shall be quelled, and tliy pride 

shall be crushed: 
Weep, Babylon, weep! for thy splendor is 

past; 
And they come lilte the storm in tlie day of 

the blast. 

Howl, desolate Babylon, lost one and lone! 
And bind thee in sackcloth — for where is 

thy throne? 
Like a wine-press in wratli will I trample 

thee down. 
And rend from thy temples tlie pride of thy 

crown. 

Though thy streets be a hundred, thy grates 
be all brass. 

Yet thy proud ones of war shall be with- 
ered like grass; 

Tliy gates shall be broken, thy strength 
be laid low. 

And thy streets shall resound to the shouts 
of the foe. 

Tliough thy chariots of power on thy bat- 
tlements bound. 

And the grandeur of waters encompass thee 
round; 

Tet thy walls shall be shaken, thy waters 
sliall fall. 

Thy matrons shall shriek, and thy king 
shall be pale. 

The terrible day of thy fall is at hand. 

■When my rage shall descend on the face 
of thy land; 

The lances are pointed, the keen sword is 
bared. 

The shields are anointed, the helmets pre- 
pared. 

1 call upon Cyrus. He comes from afar, 
And the armies of nations are gatliered to 

war. 
With the blood of thy children liis path 

shall be red. 
And the bright sun of conquest shall blaze 

o'er his head. 

Thou glorj' of kingdoms! thy princes are 

drunk. 
But their loins shall be loosed, and their 

hearts shall be sunk; 
They shall crouch to the dust, and be 

counted as slaves, 



58 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



At the roll of his wheels, like the rushing 
of waves. 

For I am the Lord, who have mightily 
spanned 

The breadth of the heaven, and the sea 
and the land; 

And the mountains shall flow at my pres- 
ence, and earth 

Shall reel to and fro in the glance of my 
wrath. 

Tour proud domes of cedar on earth shall 

be thrown, 
And the rank grass shall wave o'er the 

lonely Iiparthstone: 
And your sons and your sires and your 

daughters shall bleed 
By the barbarous hands of the murdering 

Mede! 

I will sweep ye away in destruction and 
death, 

As the whirlwind that scatters the chaff 
with its breath; 

And the fanes of your gods shall be sprink- 
led with gore. 

And the course of your stream shall be 
heard of no more. 

There the wandering Arab shall ne'er pitch 

his tent. 
But the beasts of the desert shall wail and 

lament; 
In their desolate houses the dragons shall 

lie, 
And the satyrs shall dance, and the bittern 

shall cry! Alfred Tennyson. 



DAVID S GRIEF FOR HIS CHILD. 

"Twas daybreak, and the fingers of the dawn 
Drew the night's curtain, and touched si- 
lently 
The eyelids of the king. And David woke. 
And robed himself, and prayed. The in- 
mates, now. 
Of the vast palace were astir, and feet 
Glided along the tesselated floors 
With a pervading murmur, and the fount 
Whose music had been all the night un- 
heard, 
Played as if light had made it audible; 
And each one, waking, blessed it unaware. 
The fragrant strife of sunshine with the 
morn 
Sweetened the air to ecstasy, and now 
The king's wont was to lie upon his couch 
Beneath the sky-roof of the inner court. 
And, shut in from the world, but not from 

heaven, 
Play with his loved son by the fountain's 

lip; 
For, with idolatry confessed alone 
To the rapt wires of his reproofless harp, 
He loved the child of Bathsheba. And when 
The golden selvedge of his robe was heard 
Sweeping the marble pavement, from within 
Broke forth a child's laugh suddenly, and 
words — 



Articulate, perhaps, to his heart only — 
Pleading to come to him. They brought the 

boy^ 
An infant cherub, leaping as if used 
To hover with that motion upon wings. 
And marvelously beautiful! His brow 
Had the inspired up-lift of the king's. 
And kingly was his infantine regard; 
But his ripe mouth was of the ravishing 

mold 
Of Bathsheba's — the hue and type of love. 
Rosy and passionate — and oh, the moist 
Unfathomable blue of his large eyes 
Gave out its light as twiliglit shows a star. 
And drew the heart of the beholder in! — 
And this was like his mother. 

David's lips 
Moved with unuttered blessings, and a 

while 
He closed the lids upon his moistened eyes. 
And, with the round cheek of the nestling 

boy 
Pressed to his bosom, sat as if afraid 
That but the lifting of his lids might jar 
The heart-cup's overfulness. Unobserved, 
A servant of the outer court had knelt 
Waiting before him; and a cloud the while 
Had rapidly spread o'er the summer heaven; 
And, as the chill of the withdrawing sun 
Fell on the king, he lifted up his eyes 
And frowned upon the servant- — for that 

hour 
Was hallowed to his heart and his fair 

child. 
And none might seek him. And the king 

arose. 
And with a troubled countenance looked up 
To the fast-gathering darkness; and, behold. 
The servant bowed himself to earth, and 

said, 

"Nathan the prophet cometh from the 

Lord!" 
And David's lips grew white, and with a 

clasp 
Which wrung a murmur from the frighted 

child. 
He drew him to his breast, and covered him 
With the long foldings of his robe, and said, 
"I will come forth. Go now!" And linger- 

Ingly 
With kisses on the fair uplifted brow. 
And mingled words of tenderness and prayer 
Breaking in tremulous accents from his lips. 
He gave to them the child, and bowed his 

head 
Upon his breast with agony. And so. 
To hear the errand of the man of God, 
He fearfully went forth. 

• ♦♦**•**• 
It was the morning of the seventh day. 
A hush was in the palace, for all eyes 
Had woke before the morn; and they who 

drew 
The curtains to let in the welcome light, 
Moved in their chambers with unslippered 

feet. 
And listened breathlessly. And still no stir! 
The servants who kept watch without the 

door 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



£9 



Sat motionless; tlie purple casement-shades 
From the low windows had been rolled 

away, 
To give the child air; and the flickering 

light 
That, all the night, within the spacious 

court, 
Had drawn the watcher's eye to one spot 

only. 
Paled with the sunrise and fled in. 

And hushed 
With more than stillness was the room 

where lay 
The king's son on his mother's breast. His 

locks 
Slept at the lips of Bathsheba unstirred — 
So fearfully, with heart and pulse kept 

down. 
She watched his breathless slumber. The 

low moan 
That from his lips all night broke fitfully. 
Had silenced with the daybreak; and a 

smile — • 
Or something that would fain have been a, 

smile — 
Played in his parted mouth; and though 

his lids 
Hid not the blue of his unconscious eyes. 
His senses seemed all peacefully asleep. 
And Bathsheba in silence blessed the morn — 
That brought back hope to her! But when 

the king 
Heard not the voice of the complaining child, 
Nor breath from out the room, nor foot 

astir — 
But morning there — so welcomeless and 

still- 
He groaned and turned upon his face. The 

nights 
Had wasted, and the mornings come, and 

days 
Crept through the sky, unnumbered by the 

king. 
Since the child sickened; and, without the 

door. 
Upon the bare earth prostrate, he had lain — 
Listening only to the moans that brought 
Their inarticulate tidings, and the voice 
Of Bathsheba, whose pity and caress. 
In loving utterance all broke witli tears, 
Spoke as his heart would speak if he were 

there, 
And filled his prayer with agony. O God! 
To thy bright mercy-seat the way is far! 
How fail the weak words while the heart 

keeps on! 
And when the spirit, mournfully, at last, 
Kneels at thy throne, how cold, how dis- 
tantly 
The comforting of friends falls on the ear — 
The anguish they would speak to, gone to 

thee. 
But suddenly the watchers at the door 
Rose up and they who ministered within 
Crept to the threshold and looked earnestly 
■Where the king lay. And still, while Bath- 
sheba 
Held the unmovlng child upon her knees, 
The curtains were let down, and all came 

forth, 



And, gathering with fearful looks apart, . 
■RTnispered together. 

And the king arose 
.\nd gazed on them a mo-ment, and with voice 
Of quick, uncertain utterance, lie asked, .. 
"Is the cliild dead?" They answered. VHe 

is dead!" . . 

But when they looked to see him fall again 
Upon his face, and rend himself and w.eeiJ — 
For while the child was sick, his agony 
Would bear no comforters, and they had 

thought 
His heart-strings with the tidinys must 

give way — 
Behold! his face grew calm, and, with his 

robe 
Gathered togetlier like his kingly wont. 
Ho silently went in. 

And David came. 
Robed and anointed, forth, and to the house 
Of God went up to pray. And he returned. 
And they set bread before him, and he ate— 
And when they marveled, he said: "WJiere- 

fore mourn? 
The child is dead, and I shall go to him — 
But he will not return to me." 

Nathaniel Pabkeb Wiixis. 



ABRAM AND ZIMRI. 

Abram and Zimri owned a field together — 

A level field hid in a happy vale: 

They plowed it with one plow, and in the 

sprin,? 
Sowed, walking side by side, tlie fruitful 

seed. 
In harvest, wlien the glad earth smiled with 

grain, 
Each carried to his home one-half the 

sheaves. 
And stored them with much labor in his 

barns. 
Now, Abram had a wife and seven- sons. 
But Zimri dwelt alone within his house. 
One night, before the sheaves were gath- 
ered in. 
As Zimri lay upon his lonely bed 
And counted in his mind his little gains. 
He thought upon his brother Abram'slot, 
And said. "I dwell alone within my house. 
But Abram hath a wife and seven sons, 
.4nd yet we share the harvest sheaves alike. 
He surely needeth more for life than I; 
I will arise, and gird myself, and go 
Down to the field, and add to his from mine:" 
So he arose, and girded up his loins. 
And went out softly to the level Held: 
The moon shone out from dusky bars of 

clouds. 
The trees stood black against the cold blue 

sky, 
The branches waved and whispered in the 

wind. 
So Zimri, guided by the shifting light. 
Went down the mountain-path, and . found 

the field. 
Took from his store of sheaves a generous 

third. 



GO 



TllEASURES OF POETRY. 



And bore thera grladly to his brother's heap, 
And then went back to sleep and happy 

d ream 3. 
Now, tliat same night, as Abram lay in bed, 
Thinking upon his blissful state in life. 
He thought upon his brotlier Zimrl's lot. 
And said, "He dwells within liis house alone. 
He goeth fortli to toil with few to help. 
He ffoeth home at night to a cold house, 
And hath few other friends but me and 

mine" 
(For these two tilled the happy vale alone), 
"SVliiie I, whom Heaven hath very greatly 

blessed. 
Dwell happy with my wife and seven sons, 
Vi'ho aid me in my toil and make It light, 
And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike. 
This surely is not pleasing unto God; 
I win arise, and gird myself, and go 
Out to the field, and borrow from my store, 
And add unto my brother Zimrl's pile." 
So he arose and girded up his loins, 
And went down softly to the level field. 
The moon shone out from silver bars of 

clouds. 
The trees stood blank against the starry sky. 
The dark leaves waved and whispered in 

the breeze: 
So Abram, guided by tlie doubtful light, 
Passed down the mountain-path and found 

the Held, 
TQOk from his store of sheaves a gener- 
ous third. 
And added them unto his brother's heap. 
Then he went back to sleep and happy 

dreams. 
So the next morning with the early sun 
The brothers rose, and went out to their toil; 
And when they came to see the heavy 

sheaves, 
Kacli wondered in his heart to find liis heap. 
Though he had given a third, was still the 

same. 
Now, tlie next night went Zimri to the 

field. 
Took from his store of sheaves a generous 

share. 
And placed them on his brother Abram's 

heap. 
And then lay down behind his pile to watch. 
The moon looked out from bars of silvery 

cloud. 
The cedars stood up black against the sky. 
The olive-branches whispered in the wind. 
Tlien Abram came down softly from his 

home. 
And, looking to the right and left, went on; 
Took from his ample store a generous third. 
And laid it on his brother Zimrl's pile. 
Then Zimri rose, and caught him in his arms. 
And wept upon his neck, and kissed his 

cheek; 
And Abram saw the whole, and could not 

speak. 
Neither could Zimri. So they walked along 
Back to their homes, and thanked their God 

in prayer 
That he had bound them in such loving 

band."!. 

Ci..%KHNca Cook. 



SOLOMON AND THE BEES. 

When Solomon was reigning in his glory. 
Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came 

(So in the Talmud you may read the story). 
Drawn by the magic of the monarch's 
fame. 

To see the splendors of his court, and bring 

Some fitting tribute to the mighty king. 

Nor this alone: much had her highness 

heard 
What (lowers of learning graced the royal 

speecli ; 
What gems of wisdom dropped with every 

word: 
■VSTiat wholesome lessons he was wont to 

teacli 
In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in 

sooth. 
To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth. 

Besides, the queen had heard (which piqued 
her most) 
How through the deepest riddles he could 
spy; 
How all the curious arts that women boast 
Were quite transparent to his piercing 
eye; 
And so the queen had come — a royal guest — 
To put the sage's cunning to the test. 

And straight .slie held before the monarch's 
view, 
In either hand, a radiant wreath of flow- 
ers; 
The one, bedecked with every charming hue. 
Was newly culled from Nature's choicest 
bowers; 
The other, no less fair in every part. 
Was the rare product of divinest Art. 

"Wliich Is the true, and which the false?" 
she said. 
Great Solomon was silent. All amazed. 
Each wondering courtier shook his puz- 
zled head; 
While at the garlands long the monarch 
gazed, 
As one who sees a miracle, and fain. 
For very rapture, ne'er would speak again. 

"Which is the true?" once more the woman 

asked. 

Pleased at the fond amazement of the king; 

"So wise a head should not be hardly tasked. 

Most learned Liege, with such a trivial 

thing!" 

But still the sage was silent: it was plain 

A deepening doubt perplexed the royal brain 

While thus he pondered, presently he sees. 
Hard by the casement — so the stor.v 
goes — • 
A little band of busy, bustling bees. 

Hunting for honey in a withered rose. 
The monarch smiled, and raised his royal 

head; 
"Open the window!" that was all he said. 

The window opened at the king's command; 
Within the room the eager insects flew, 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



•;i 



And sought the flowers in Sheba's dexter 

hand! 
And so the king and all the courtiers 

knew 
That wreath was Nature's; and the baflled 

queen 
Returned to tell the wonders she had seen. 

My story teaches (every tale sliould bear 

A fitting moral) that the wise may find 
In trifles light as atoms in the air 

Some useful lesson to enrich the mind — 
Some truth designed to profit or to please — 
As Israel's king learned wisdom from the 
bees! 

.TouM o. Saxk. 



ABSALOM. 

The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung 

low 
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled 
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still. 
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. 
The reeds bent down the stream; the wil- 
low-leaves, 
With a soft cheek upon tlie running tide, 
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long 

stems. 
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle 

nurse, 
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way. 
And leaned, in graceful attitude, to rest. 
How strikingly the course of nature tells. 
By its light heed of human suffering, 
That it was fashioned for a happier world! 
King David's limbs were weary. He had 

fled 
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood, 
With his faint people, for a little rest. 
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind 
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow 
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn 
The mourner's covering, and lie had not felt 
Tiiat he could see his people until now. 
They gathered round him on the fresh green 

bank 
And spoke their kindly words; and as the 

sun 
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them 

there. 
And bowed his head upon liis hands to pray. 
Oh! when the heart is full, when bitter 

thoughts 
Come crowding thickly up for utterance. 
And the poor common words of courtesy 
Are such an empty mockery, how much 
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer! 
He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up 
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those 
Whose love had been his shield; and his 

deep tones 
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom — 
For his estranged, misguided Absalom — 
The proud, bright being who had burst away. 
In all his princely beauty, to defy 
Tlie heart that cherished him — for him he 

poured, 
In agony that would not he controlled. 



.Strong supplication, and forgave him there. 
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. 

The pall was settled He -who slept be- 
neath 
^■fes straiglitened for the grave; and as the 

folds 
Sunk to the still proportions they betrayed 
The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken c»rls 
Were lloating round the tassels, as they 

swayed 
To the admitted air, as glossy now 
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bath- 

The snowy Angers of Judea's daughters. 
His helm was at his feet; his banner, aoiled 
With trailing' through Jerusalem, was laid. 
Reversed, beside him; and the jeweled hilt. 
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade. 
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow. 
Ttie soldiers of the king trod to and fro, 
Clad in tlie garb of battle; and their chief, 
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier. 
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, 
As if he feared the slumberer might stir. 
A slo'-^ step startled him. He grasped his 

blade 
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form 
Of David entered, and he gave command. 
In a lo%v tone, to his few followers. 
And left him with his dead. The king stood 

still 
Till the last echo died: then, throwing off 
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
The pall from the still features of his child. 
He bowed his head upon him, and broke 

forth 
In the resistless eloquence of woe: 

"Alas, my noble boy, tliat thou shouldst die! 

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair: 

That death should settle in thy glorious eye. 

And leave his stillness in this clustering 

hair! 

How could he mark thee for the silent tomb. 

My proud boy, Absalom? 

"Cold is thy brow, my son; and I am chill. 
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. 
How was I wont to feel ray pulses thrill. 
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to ca- 
ress thee. 
And hear thy sweet 'my father' from these 
dumb 

And cold lipa, Absalom! 

"But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush 

Of music and the voices of the young. 
And life will pass me in the mantling blush. 
And the dark tresses to the soft winds 
flung; 
But thou no more, witli thy sweet voice, 
shall come 

To meet me, Absalom! 

".\nd, oh! when lam stricken, and my heart. 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to he 
broken. 
How will its love for thee, as I depart. 



62 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Yearn 1 or thine ear to drink its last deep 

token! 
It were so sweet amid death's gathering 

gloom 

To see thee, Absalom! 

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee 
lip. 
With death so like a gentle slumber on 
t liee ; 
And tliy dark sin! — Oh, I could drink the cup. 
If from this woe its bitterness had won 
thee! 
Ma-y . God have called thee, like a wanderer, 
home. 

My erring Absalom!" 

fte covered up his face, and bowed himself 
A moment on his child; then, giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer. 
And, as if strength were given him of God, 
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall 
Firmly and decently, and left him there. 
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 
Nathaniel I'akkee Willis. 



JEPHTHAH S DAUGHTER. 

She stood before her father's gorgeous tent. 
To listen for his coming. Her loose hair 
W'as resting on her shoulders, like a cloud 
Floating around a statute, and the wind. 
Just swaying her light robe, revealed a 

shape 
Praxiteles might worship. She had clasped 
Her hands upon her bosom, and had raised 
Her beautiful, dark, Jewish eyes to heaven. 
Till the long lashes lay upon her brow. 
Her lip was slightly parted, like the cleft 
Of a pomegranate blossom: and her neck, 
Just where the cheek was melting to its 

curve 
With the unearthly beauty sometimes there, 
Was shaded, as if light had fallen off. 
Its Surface was so polished. She was still- 
ing 
Her light, quick breath to hear; and the 

white rose 
Scarce moved upon her bosom, as it swelled. 
Like nothing but a lovely wave of light. 
To meet the arching of her queenly neck. 
Her countenance was radiant with love- 
She looked like one to die for it — a being 
Wlliose whole existence was the pouring out 
Of rich and deep affections. 

Onward came 
The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion 

notes 
Rang sharply on the ear at intervals; 
And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts, 
Returning from the battle, poured from far, 
Like the deep murmur of a restless sea 
They came, as earthly conquerors always 

come. 
With blood and splendor, revelry and woe. 
The stately horse treads proudly — he hath 

trod 
The brow of death as well. The chariot- 
wheels 



Of warriors roll magnificently on — 

Their weight hath crushed the fallen. Man 

is there — ■ 
Majestic, lordly man — with his sublime 
And elevated brow, and godlike frame; 
Lifting his crest in triumph — for his heel 
Hath trod the dying like a wine-press down! 
The mighty Jephthah led his warriors on 
Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was 

proudly set. 
And his stern lip curled lightly, as if praise 
Were for the hero's scorn. His step was 

firm. 
But free as India's leopard; and his mail. 
Whose shekels none in Israel might bear. 
Was like a cedar's tassel on his frame. 
His crest was Judah's kingliestiand the look 
Of his dark, lofty eye, and bended brow, 
Might quell the lion. He led on; but 

thoughts 
Seemed gathering round which troubled 

him. The veins 
Grew visible upon his swarthy brow. 
And his proud lip was pressed as if with 

pain. 
He trod less firmly; and his restless eye 
Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill 
He dared not meet, were there. His home 

was near. 
And men were thronging, with that strange 

delight 
They have in liuman passions, to observe 
The struggle of his feelings with his pride. 
He gazed intently forward. The tall firs 
Before his door were motionless. The leaves 
Of the sweet aloe, and the clustering vines 
Which half concealed his threshold, met his 

eye. 
Unchanged and beautiful; and one by one. 
The balsam, with its sweet-distilling stems. 
And the Circassian rose, and all the crowd 
Of silent and familiar things, stole up. 
Like the recovered passages of dreams. 
He strode on rapidly. A moment more. 
And he had reached his home; when lo! 

there sprang 
One with a bounding footstep, and a brow 
Of light, to meet him. On, how beautiful! 
Her proud eye flashing like a sun-lit gem. 
And her luxuriant hair — 'twas like the sweep 
Of a wing in visions. He stood still. 
As if the sight had withered him. She 

threw 
Her arms about his neck; he heeded not. 
She called him "Father," but he answered 

not 
She stood and gazed upon him. Was I;e 

wroth? 
There was no anger in that blood-shot eye. 
Had sickness seized him? She unclasped 

his helm. 
And laid her white hand gently on his brow. 
And the large veins felt stiff and hard, like 

cords. 
The touch aroused him. He raised up his 

hands. 
And spoke the name of God in agony. 
She knew that he was stricken then, and 

rushed 
Again into his arms, and with a flood 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



63 



Of tears she could not stay, she sobbed a 

prayer 
That he would breathe his agony in words. 
He told her — and a momentary flush 
Shot o'er her countenance; and then the soul 
Of Jephthah's daughter wakened; and she 

stood 
Calmly and nobly up, and said 'twas well — 
And she would die. • • » • • 

The sun had well-nigh set. 
The fire was on the altar; and the priest 
Of the High God was there. A pallid man 
Was stretching out his trembling hands to 

heaven. 
As if he would have prayed, but had no 

words — 
And she who was to die. the calmest one 
In Israel at that hour, stood up alone, 
And waited for the sun to set. Her face 
Was pale, but very beautiful — her lip 
Had a more delicate outline, and the tint 
Wf,s deeper; but her countenance was like 
The majesty of angels. 

Nathaniel Parkes Willis. 



THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM. 

Morn breaketh in the east. The purple clouds 

Are putting on their gold and violet. 

To look the meeter for the sun's bright 

coming. 
Sleep is upon the waters and tlie wind; 
And nature, from the wavy forest-leaf 
To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet 
There is no mist upon the deep blue sky. 
And the clear dew is on the blushing bosoms 
Of crimson roses in a holy rest. 
How hallowed is the hour of morning! 

meet — 
Ay, beautifully meet — for the pure prayer. 
The patriarch standeth at his tented door. 
With hia white locks uncovered. 'Tis his 

wont 
To gaze upon that gorgeous orient: 
And at that hour the awful majesty 
Of man who talketh often with his God, 
Is wont to come again, and clothe his brow 
As at his fourscore strength. But now, 

he seemeth 
To be forgetful of his vigorous frame. 
And boweth to his staff as at the hour 
Of noon-tide sultriness. And that bright 

sun — • 
He looketh at its penciled messengers, 
Coming in golden raiment, as if all 
Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness. 
Ah, he is waiting till it herald in 
The hour to sacrifice his much-loved son! 
Light poureth on the world. And Sarah 

stand.s 
Watching the steps of Abraham and her 

child 
Along the dewy sides of the far hills. 
And praying that her sunny boy faint not. 
Would she have watched their path so si- 
lently. 
If she had known that he was going up. 
E'en in his fair-haired beauty, to be slain 
As a white Iamb for sacrifice? They trod 



Together onward, patriarch and child, 
The bright sun throwing back the old man's 

shade 
In straight and fair proportions, as of one 
Whose years were freshly numbered. He 

stood up. 
Tall in his vigorous strength ; and, like a tree 
Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not. 
His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind. 
And left his brow uncovered; and his face, 
Impressed with the stern majesty of grief 
Nerved to a solemn duty, now stood forth 
Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime. 
But the young boy — he of the laughing eye 
And ruby lip — the pride of life was on him. 
He seemed to drink the morning. Sun and 

dew. 
And tho aroma of the spicy trees. 
And all that giveth the delicious East 
Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light 
Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts 
W'ith love and beauty. Every thing he met. 
Buoyant or beautiful, the lightest wing 
Of bird or insect, or the palest dye 
Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path ; 
And joyously broke forth his. tiny shout. 
As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung 
Away to some green spot or clustering vine. 
To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree 
And fragrant shrub was a new hiding-place; 
And he would crouch till the old man came 

by. 
Then bound before him with his childish 

laugh. 
Stealing a look behind him playfully, 
To see if he made his father smile. 
The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up 
From the fresh daughters of the earth, and 

heat 
Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves. 
And bent them with the blossoms to their 

dreams 
Still trod the patriarch on, with that same 

step. 
Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside 
To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips 
In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells. 
Whose gush hath so much music. Weari- 
ness 
Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot 
To toss his sunny hair from oft his brow. 
And sprin.g for the fresh flowers and light 

wings 
As in the early morning; but he kept 
Close by his father's side, and bent his head 
Upon his bosom like a drooping bud, 
Lifting it not, save now and then, to steal 
A look up to the face whose sternness awed 
His childishness to silence. 

It was noon — 
And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself. 
And buried up his face, and prayed for 

strength. 
He could not look upon his son, and pray: 
But, with his hand upon the clustering curls 
Of the fair, kneeling boy, he prayed that God 
Would nerve him for that hour. • • • 

* • • * * He rose up, and laid 
The wood upon the altar. All was cone. 
He stood a moment — and a deop, quicc flush 



64 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Passe*! o'er his countenance; and tlien he 

nerved 
His spirit with a bitter strength, and 

spoke — 
"Isaac! my only son!" — The boy looked up: 
"Where is the Iamb, my father?" — Oh, the 

tones. 
The sweet, familiar voice of a loved child! 
\\ hat would its music seem at such an hour! 
It was the last deep struggle. Abraham held 
His loved, his beautiful, his only son, 
And lifted up his arm, and called on God — 
And lo! God's angel stayed him — and befell 
Upon his face, and wept. 

NATHANiEr, Parker Wii,(,i«. 



THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 

"Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible 

day! 
Ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away! 
'Tis the vintage of blood, 'tis the fulness of 

time. 
And vengeance -shall gather the harvest of 

crime!" 

The warning was spoken; the righteous 

had gone, 
And the proud ones of Sodom were feasting 

alone. 
All .gay was the banquet; tlie revel \\'as 

long. 
With the pouring of wine and breathing of 

song. 

*Twas an evening of beauty: the air was 

perfume, 
The earth was all greenness, the trees were 

all bloom: 
And softly the delicate viol was heard 
Like the murmur of love or the notes of a 

bird. 

And beautiful maidens moved down in the 

dance. 
With the magic of motion and sunshine of 

glance; 
And white arms wreathed lightly, and 

tresses fell free 
As the pluma.ge of birds in some tropical 

tree. 

Where the shrines of foul idols were 
lighted on high. 

And wantonness tempted the lust of the 
eye; 

Midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loath- 
some, abhorred, 

The blasphemer scoffed at the name of the 
Lord. 

Hark! the growl of the thunder — the quak- 
ing of earth! 

Woe, woe to the worship, and woe to the 
mirth! 

The black sky has opened — there's flame in 
the air — 

The red arm of vengeance is lifted and 
bare! 



Then the shriek of the dying rose wild 
where the son.g. 

And the low tone of love liad been whi.s- 
pered along; 

For the fierce flames went lightly o'er pal- 
ace and bower. 

Like the red tongues of demons, to blast 
and devour! 

Down — down on the fallen the red ruin 
rained. 

And the reveler sank with his wine-cup un- 
drained; 

The foot of the dancer, the music's loved 
thrill. 

And the shout and the laughter grew sud- 
denly still. 

The last throb of anguish was fearfully 

given; 
The last eye glared forth in its madness on 

heaven! 
The last groan of horror rose wildly and 

vain. 
And death brooded over the pride of tlie 

Plain! 

John Greknl&ap Whittibk. 



SCENE IN GETHSEMANE. 

The moon was shining yet. The Orient's 

brow. 
Set with the morning star, was not yet dim; 
And the deep silence which subdues the 

breath 
Like a strong feellns, hung upon the world 
As sleep upon the pulses of a child. 
'Twas the last watch of night. Gethsemane, 
With its bathed leaves of silver, seemed 

dissolved 
In visible stillness; and as Jesus' voice. 
With its bewildering sweetness, met the ear 
Of his disciples, it vibrated on 
Like the first whisper in a silent world. 
They came on slowly Heaviness oppressed 
The Savior's heart, and when the kindnesses 
Of his deep love were poured, he felt the 

need 
Of near communion, for his gift of strength 
Was wasted by the spirit's weariness. 
He left them there, and went a little on. 
And in the depth of that hushed silentness. 
Alone with God, he fell upon his face; 
And as his heart was broken wltli the rush 
Of his surpassing agony, and death, 
Wrung to him from a dyin.g universe. 
Was mightier than the Son of man could 

bear. 
He gave his sorrows way — and in the deep 
Prostration of his soul, breathed out the 

prayer, 
"Father, if it be possible with thee. 
Let this cup pass from me." Oh, how a word, 
Like the forced drop before the fountain 

breaks, 
Stilleth the press of human agony! 
The Savior felt its quiet In his soul; 
And though his strength was weakness, and 

the light 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



63 



Which led him on till now was sorely dim. 
He breathed a new submission — "Not my 

will. 
But thine be done ,0 Father!" As he spoke, 
Voices were heard in heaven, and music 

stole 
Out from the chambers of the vaulted sky 
As if tlie stars were swept like instruments. 
No cloud was visible, but radiant wings 
Were cominff with a silvery rush to earth, 
And as the Savior rose, a slorious one. 
With an Illumined forehead, and the light 
Whose fountain is the mystery of God, 
Encalmed within his eye, bowed down to 

hira 
And nerved him with a ministry of strength. 
It was enough — and with his godlike brow 
Rewritten of his Father's messenger. 
With meekness, whose divinity is more 
Than power and glory, he returned again 
To his disciples, and awaked their sleep. 
For "he that should betray him was at 

hand." Nathaniel Parker Willis. 



THE FAREWELL. 

rof a Virginia slavo mother to her daughters sold 
iDto bondage.] 

Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, 
Where the noisome insect stings. 
Where the fever demon strews 
Poison with the falling dews, 
Where the sickly sunbeams glare 
Through the hot and misty air — 
Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone, 
From Virginia's hills and waters^ 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters! 

Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the ricp-swamp dank and lone. 
There no mother's eye is near them. 
There no mother's ear can hear them: 
Never, when the torturing lash 
Seams their back with many a gash, 
Shall a mother's kindness bless them. 
Or a mother's arms caress them. 
Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's hills and w'aters — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters! 

Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow, 
From the fields at night they go. 
Faint with toil, and racked with pain, 
To their cheerless homes again, 
There no brother's voice shall greet them, 
There no father's welcome meet them. 
Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
PYom Virginia's hills and waters — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters! 

Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
lYoDi the tree whose shadow lay 



On their childhood's place of play; 

From the cool siiring where they dranfe, 

Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank; 

From the solemn house of prayer, 

And the lioly counsels there — 
Gone, gone, sold and gone, 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's hills and waters — 
Woe is me. my stolen daughters! 

Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
Toiling through tlie weary day. 
And at night the spoiler's prey. 
Oh, that they had earlier died. 
Sleeping calmly, side by side, 
■RHiere the tyrant s power is o'er. 
And the fetter galls no more! 
Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's hills and waters — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters! 

Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
By the holy love He bearetli, — 
By the bruised reed He spareth, — 
Oh, may He to whom alone 
All their cruel wrongs are known 
Still their hope and refuge prove. 
With a more than mother's love! 
Gone, gone, sold and gone. 
To the rice-swamp dank and lone. 
From Virginia's hills and waters — 
Woe is me, my stolen daughters! 

John Grkknleap Whittirh. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain. 
Where health and plenty cheerci the labor- 
ing swain. 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
And parting summer's lingering blooms de- 
layed; 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
Seats of my youth when every sport could 

please; 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endeared each 

scene! 
How often have I paused on every charm — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 
The decent church t t topped the neighbor- 
ing hill. 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the 

shade. 
For talking age and whispering lovers made! 
How often have I blessed the coming day. 
When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
^nd all the village train, from labor free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading 

tree! 
Wliile many a pastime circled in the shade. 
The young contending, as the old surveyed: 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the 

ground. 
And sleights of art, and feats of strength 
went round; 



66 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band in- 
spired. 
The dancing pair that simply sought renown 
By lidding out to tire each otlier down; 
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. 
While secret laughter tittered round the 

place: 
The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love; 
The matron's glance, that would these looks 

reprove; 
These were thy charms, sweet village! 

sports like these, 
With sweet succession taught e'en toil to 

please; 
These round thy bow-ers their cheerful in- 
fluence shed. 
These were thy charms — but all these 

charms are fled. 
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn. 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms 

withdrawn. 
Amid thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen. 
And desolation saddens all thy green; 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints the smiling plain; 
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day. 
But choked with sedges works its weedy 

way; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest: 
Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies. 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries; 
Sunk are thy bowers, in sliapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the moldering 

wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoil- 
ers' hand. 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Sweet Auburn, parent of the blissful hour. 
Thy glades forlorn confess tlie tj'rant's 

power. 
Here as I take my solitary rounds. 
Amid thy tangled walks, and ruined grounds. 
And, many a year relapsed, return to view 
■Where once the cottage stood, the haw- 
thorn grew, 
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to 

pain. 
In all my wanderings through this world 

of care. 
In all my griefs — and God has given me 

my share — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown. 
Amid these humble bowers to lay me down; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose: 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. 
Amid the swains to show my book-learned 

skill; 
Around my fire an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; 
And, as a hare when hounds and horns 

pursue, 
Pants to the place from whence at first 

she flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return — and die at home at last. 



Sweet was the sound, when oft, at eve- 
ning's close. 

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; 

There, as I passed with careless steps and 
slow. 

The mingled notes came softened from be- 
low; 

The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 

The sober herd that lowed to meet their 
young. 

The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. 

The playful children just let loose from 
school. 

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whis- 
pering wind, 

And the loud laugh that spake the vacant 
mind; 

These all in sweet confusion sought the 
shade. 

And filled each pause the nightingale had 
made. 

But now the sounds of population fail. 

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 

No busy steps the grass-grown footway 
tread. 

But all the blooming flush of life is fled; 

All but yon widowed, solitary thing. 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; 

She, wretched matron, forced, in age, for 
bread. 

To strip the brook with mantling cresses 
spread. 

To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn. 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; 

She only left of all the harmless train. 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the gar- 
den smiled. 
And still where many a garden flower grow s 

wild; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place 

disclose. 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to 

change, his place; 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; 
For other aims his heart had learnt to pri^e. 
More bent to raise the wretched tlian to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant 

train. 
He chide their wanderings, but relieved 

their pain; 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest. 
Whose beard descending swept his aged 

breast; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer 

proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims 

allowed; 
The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, 
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow 

done. 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how 

fields were won. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTI\'E. 



67 



Pleased with his guests, tlie good man 
learned to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan. 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. 

And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side: 

But in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, 
for all. 

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the 
skies: 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 

And sorrou-, gujlt, and pains, by turns dis- 
mayed. 

The reverend champion stood. At his con- 
trol. 

Despair and anguish fled the struggling 
soul: 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch 
to raise. 

And his last faltering accents whispered 
praise. 
At church with meek and unaffected grace. 

His looks adorned the venerable place: 

Truth from his lips prevailed, with double 
sway. 

And fools, who came to scoff, remained to 
pray. 

The service past, around the pious man. 

■With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; 

B'en children followed, with endearing wile. 

And plucked his gown, to share the good 
man's smile. 

His ready smile a parent's warmth ex- 
pressed: 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares 
distressed; 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs, 
were given. 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in 
heaven: 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves 
the storm. 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds 
are spread. 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts 

the way. 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 
There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule. 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view, 
I knew him well, and every truant knew. 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to 

trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face: 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited 

glee. 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
Full well the busy whisper, circling round. 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he 

frowned ; 
Tet he was kind, or if severe in aught. 
The love he bore to learning was in fault. 



The village all declared how much he knew; 

"rwas certain he could write and cipher too; 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides 
presage. 

And e'en the story ran that he could gauge; 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill. 

For e'en though vanquished, he could argue 
still: 

While words of learned length, and thun- 
dering sound, 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around, 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder 
grew. 

That one small head should carry all he 
knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot 
Wliere many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 
Near yonder thorn that lifts its head so 

high. 
Where once the signpost caught the pass- 
ing eye. 
Low lies that house where nut-brown 

drau.ghts inspired. 
Where gray-beard mirth, and smiling toil, 

retired ; 
Where village statesmen talked with looks 

profound. 
And news much older than their ale went 

round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace. 
The parlor-splendors of that festive place — 
The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded 

floor. 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the 

door; 
The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 
The pictures placed for ornament and use: 
The twelve good rules; the royal game of 

goose; 
The hearth, except when winter chilled the 

day. 
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel 

gay. 
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show. 
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
********* 
Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed that 

parting day, 
That called them from tlieir native walks 

away ; 
\\'Tien the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked 

their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain. 
For seats like these beyond the western 

main; 
And shuddering still to face the distant 

deep. 
Returned and wept, and still return to weepi 
The good old sire, the flrst prepared to go. 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' 

woe; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears. 
The fond companion of his helpless years. 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
And left a lover's for a father's arms. 



68 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



With louder plaints the mother spoke her 
woes, 

And blessed the cot where every pleasure 
rose; 

And kissed her thoughtless babes with 
many a tear. 

And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly 
dear; 

While her fond husband strove to lend re- 
lief. 

In all the silent manliness of i^rief. 

Even now the devastation is begun, 
And half tlie business of destruction done: 
Even now, methinks, as pondering liere I 

stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads 

the sail. 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 
Downward they move, a melancholy band! 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the 

strand. 
• *««*•*«* 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER 
OF JAIRUS. 

Freshly the cool hieatli of the coming e\'e 
Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl 
Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain 
Since the hot noontide in a breathless 

trance. 
Her thin pale fingers clasped within the 

hand 
Of the heart-broken ruler, and her breast. 
Like the dead marble, white and motionless. 
The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips. 
And, as it stirred with the awakening wind, 
The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes. 
And her slight fingers moved, and heavily 
She turned upon her pillow. He was there — 
The same loved, tireless watcher, and she 

looked 
Into his face until her sight grew dim 
With the fast-falling tears; and, with a 

sigh 
Of tremulous weakness murmuring his 

name, 
She gently drew liis hand upon her lips. 
And kissed it as she wept. The old man sunk 
Upon his knees, and in the drapery 
Of the rich curtains buried up his face; 
And when the twilight fell, the silken folds 
Stirred with his prayer, but the slight hand 

he held 
Had ceased its pressure: and he could not 

hear. 
Tn the dead, utter silence, that a breath 
Came through her nostrils, and her temples 

gave 
To his nice touch no pulse; and. at her 

mouth, 

He held the lightest curl that on her neck 

Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze 

Ached with its deathly stillness. * ' 

• ' * * » « It was night — 



And, softly, o er tlie Sea of Galilee, 
Danced tlie breeze-ridden ripples to tlie 

sliore, 
Tipped with the silver sparkles of the moon. 
The breaking waves played low upon the 

beach 
Their constant music, but the air beside 
Was still as starlight, and the Savior's 

voice. 
In its ricli cadences unearthly sweet. 
Seemed like some just-born harmony in tlie 

air. 
Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock. 
With the broad moonlight falling on his 

brow. 
He stood and taught the people. At his feet 
Lay the small scrip, and pilgrim's scallop- 
shell. 
And staff, for they had waited by the sea 
Till he came o'er from Gadarene, and prayed 
For his wont teachings as he came to land. 
His hair was parted meekly on his brow, 
And tlio long curls from off his shoulders 

fell. 
As he leaned forward earnestly, and still 
The same calm cadence, passionless and 

deep, 
And in his looks the same mild majesty, 
And in his mien tlie sadness mixed with 

powei*, 
Filled tiiem with lovo and wonder. Sud- 
denly, 
As on his words entrancedly they hung, 
Tlie crowd divided, and among them stood 
Jairus the ruler. With his flowing robe 
Gathered in haste about his loins, he came. 
And fixed liis eyes on Jesus. Closer drew 
The Twelve disciples to their Master's side; 
And silently the people shrunk away, 
And left the haughty ruler in the midst 
Alone. A moment longer on the face 
Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze. 
And, as the Twelve looked on him, by the 

light 
Of the clear moon they saw a glistening 

tear 
Steal to his silver beard; and, drawing nigh 
Unto the Savior's feet, he took the hem 
Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling 

hands 
Pressed it upon his lids, and murmured low, 
"Master! my daughter!" » • • » 

• " * ' The same silvery light. 
That shone upon the lone rock by the sea. 
Slept on the ruler's lofty capitals. 
As at the door he stood, and welcomed in 
Jesus and liis disciples. All was still. 
The echoing vestibule gave back the slide 
Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam 
Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor. 
Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms. 
As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps 
He trod the winding stair; but ere he 

touched 
The latchet. from within a whisper came, 
"Trouble the Master not — for she is dead!" 
And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side. 
And his steps faltered, and his broken voice 
Choked in its utterance — but a gentle hand 
Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



69 



The Savior's voice sank thrillingly and low, 
"She is not dead — but sleepeth." 

They passed in. 
The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns 
Burned dimly, and the white and fragrant 

smoke 
Curled indolently on the chamber walls. 
The silken curtains slumbered in their 

folds— 
Not even a tassel stirrinir in tiie air — 
And as the Savior stood beside the bed. 
And prayed inaudibly, tlie ruler heard 
The quickening division of his breath 
As he grew earnest inwardly. There came 
A gradual brightness o'er his calm, sad face: 
And, drawing nearer to the bed, he moved 
Tile silken curtains silentl.v apart, 
And looked upon the maiden. 

Like a form 
Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay. 
The linen vesture folded on her breast, 
And over it her white transparent hands. 
The blood still rosy in their tapering nails. 
A line of pearl ran through her parted lips. 
And In her nostrils, spiritually thin. 
The breathing curve was mockingly like life: 
And round beneath the faintly tinted skin 
Ran the light branches of the azure veins; 
And on her cheek the Jet lash overlay. 
Matching the arches penciled on her brow. 
Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose 
Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears 
In curls of glossy blackness, and about 
Her polished neck, scarce touching it, they 

hung, 
Like airy shadows floating as they slept. 
'Twas heavenly beautiful. The Savior raised 
Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out 
The snowy fingers in liis palm, and said, 
"Maiden! Arise! "- — and suddenly a llusli 
Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips 
And through her cheek the rallied color ran; 
And the still outline of her graceful form 
Stirred in the linen vesture; and she clasped 
The Savior's hand, and fixing her dark eyes 
Full on his beaming countenance — AROSE! 
Nathaniel Parker Willis. 



CHRIST S ENTRANCE INTO 
JERUSALEM. 

He sat upon the "ass's foal" and rode 
On to Jerusalem. Beside him walked. 
Closely and silently, the faithful Twelve, 
.■Vnd on before him went a multitude 
Shouting Hosannas, and with eager hands 
Strewing their garments thickly in his way. 
The unbroken foal beneath h 1 m gently 

stepped. 
Tame as Its patient dam; and as the song 
Of "Welcome to the Son of David" burst 
forth from a thousand children, and the 

leaves 
Of the waved branches touched its silken 

ears. 
It turned its wild eye for a moment back. 
And then, subdued by an invisible hand. 



Meekly trode onward with its slender feet 
Tlio dew's last sparkle from the grass 

had gone 
As he rode up Mount Olivet. The woods 
Threw their cool shadows freshly to the 

west. 
And the light foal, with quiclt and toiling 

step. 
And head bent low, kept its un.slackened way 
Till its soft mane ^^•as lifted by tlie wind 
Sent o'er the mount from Jordan. As he 

reached 
The summit's breezy pitch, tlie Savior 

raised 
His calm blue eye — there stood Jerusalem! 
Eagerly he bent forward, and beneath 
His mantle's passive folds, a bolder line 
Than the wont slightness of his perfect 

limbs 
Betrayed the swelling fulness of his lieart. 
Tliere stood Jerusalem! How llair she 

looked — 
The silver sun on all her palaces. 
And her fair daughters mid the golden 

spires 
Tending tlieir terrace flowers, and Kedron's 

stream 
Lacing the meadows with its siU'er band. 
And wreathing its mist-mantle on the sky 
"^Ttli tlie morn's exhalations. There she 

stood — . 
Jerusalem — the city of his love. 
Chosen from all the earth; Jerusalem — 
That knew him not, and had rejected him; 
Jerusalem — for whom ho came to die! 
The shouts redoubled from a tliousand lips 
At the fair sight; the children leaped ind 

sang 
Louder Hosannas: the clear air was filled 
With odor from the trampled olive-leaves — 
But "Jesus wept." The loved disciples saw 
His Master's tears, and closer to his side 
He came with yearning looks, and on his 

neck 
The Savior leant with heavenly tenderness. 
And mourned — "How oft, Jerusalem! would I 
Have gathered you, as gathereth a hen 
Her brood beneath her wings — but ye would 

not!" 
He thought not of the death that he 

should die: 
He thought not of the thorns he knew must 

pierce 
His forehead; of the buffet on the cheek. 
The scourge, the mocking homage, the foul 

scorr: 
Gethsemane stood out beneath his eye 
Clear in the morning sun, and there, he knew, 
■^'hile they who "could not watch with him 

one hour" 
Were sleeping, he should sweat great drops 

of blood. 
Praying the "cup might pass." .\nd Golgotha 
Stood bare and desert by the city wall. 
And in its midst, to his prophetic eye. 
Rose the rough cross, and its keen agonies 
Were numbered all — the nails were in his 

feet. 
The insulting sponge was pressing on hl» 

lips. 



70 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



The blood and water gushing: from his side, 
Tlie dizzy faintness swimming in his brain, 
And while his own disciples fled in fear, 
A world's death-agonies all mixed in his! 
Ay! he forgot all this. He only saw 
Jerusalem — the chosen — the loved — the lost! 
He only felt that for her sake his life 
W'as vainly given, and, in his pitying love, 
The sufferings that would clothe the heav- 
ens in black. 
Were quite forgotten. Was there ever love. 
In earth or heaven, equal unto this? 

P. Willis. 



THE MAIDEN MARTYR. 

[The foUoTCing is a true incident. It occurred in 
the history of the Scotch Covenanters.] 

A troop of soldiers waited at the door, 
A crowd of people gathered in the street, 
Aloof a little from them bared sabers 

gleamed. 
And flashed into their faces. Then the door 
Was opened, and two women meekly stepped 
Into the sunshine of the sweet May-noon, 
Out of the prison. One was weak and old, 
A woman full of tears, and full of woes; 
The other was a maiden in her morn. 
And they were one in name, and one in faith. 
Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ, 
That bound them closer than the ties of 

blood. 
The troop moved on; and down the sunny 

street 
The people followed, ever falling back 
As in their faces flashed the naked blades. 
But in the midst the women simply went 
As if they two were walking, side by side. 
Up to God's house on some still Sabbath 

morn. 
Only they were not clad for Sabbath-day; 
But as they went about their daily tasks. 
They went to prison and they went to death. 
Upon their Master's service. 

On the shore 
The troopers halted. All the shining sands 
Lay bare and glistering; for the tide had 
Drawn back to its farthest margin's weedy 

mark. 
And each succeeding wave, with flash and 

curve. 
That seemed to mock the sabers on the 

shore. 
Drew nearer by a hand-breadth: "It will be 
A long day's work," murmured those mur- 
derous men 
As they slacked rein. The leader of the 

troops 
Dismounted, and the people passing near 
Then heard the pardon proffered, with the 

oath 
Renouncing and abjuring part with all 
The persecuted, covenanted folk; 
But both refused the oath: "Because," they 

said, 
"Unless with Christ's dear servants we have 

part. 
We have no part with him." 



On this they took 
The elder Margaret, and led her out 
Over the sliding sands, the weedy sludge, 
The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her 
Unto the farthest stake, already reached 
By every rising wave, and left her there; 
And as the waves crept about her feet, 

she prayed 
"That He would firm uphold her in their 

midst, 
■Who holds them in the hollow of His hand." 
The tide flowed in. And up and down the 

shore 
There paced the Provost and the Laird of 

Lag^ 
Grim Grierson — with Wlndram and with 

Graham; 
And the rude soldiers, jesting with coarse 

oath. 
As in the midst the maiden meekly stood. 
Waiting her doom delayed, said "she would 
Turn before the tide — seek refuge in their 

arms 
From the chill waves." But ever to her lips 
There came the wondrous words of life and 

peace: 
"If God be for us, who can be against? 
Who shall divide us from the love of Christ? 
Nor height, nor depth, nor any other crea- 
ture." 

From the crowd 
A woman's voice cried a very bitter cry — 
"O Margaret! My bonnie, bonnie Margaret! 
Gie In, gie in, my bairnie, dinna ye drown, 
Gie in, and tak' the oath." 

The tide flowed in; 
And so wore on the sunny afternoon; 
And every fire went out upon the hearth. 
And not a meal was tasted in the town 

that day. 
And still the tide was flowing in; • 
Her mother's voice yet sounding in her ear, 
They turned young Margaret's face toward 

the sea, 
■WTiere something white was floating — some- 
thing 
White as the seamew that sits upon the 

wave; 
But as she looked it sank; then showed 

again; 
Then disappeared; and round the shore 
And stake the tide stood ankle deep. 

Then Grierson 
With cursing vowed that he would wait 
No more, and to the stake the soldier led her 
DoM'n, and tied her liands, and rouiid her 
Slender waist too roughly cast the rope, for 
Windram came and eased it while he whis- 
pered 
In her ear, "Come, dear, take tlie test, and 

ye are free." 
And one cried, "Margaret, say but. God save 
The king!" "God save the king of his 

great grace," 
She answered, but the oath she would not 
take. 

And still the tide flowed in. 
And drove the people back, and silenced 

them. 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 



71 



She sang the psalm, "To Thee I lift my 

soul." 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist, 
"To thee, my God, I lift my soul," she sang. 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat. 
She sang no more, but lifted up her face. 
And there was glory over all tlie sky. 
And there was glory over all the sea — 
A flood of glory — and the lifted face 
Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood. 
And Scotland's Maiden Martyr went to God. 



THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. 

'Twas night in the beautiful city. 
The famous and wonderful city. 
The proud and magnificent city. 
The Queen of the North and the West. 
The riches of nations were gathered in 

wondrous and plentiful store: 
The swift-speeding bearers of commerce 

were waiting on river and shore; 
The great staring walls towered skyward, 

with visage undaunted and bold. 
And said, "We are ready, O Winter! come 

on with your hunger and cold! 
Sweep down with your storms from the 

Northward! come out from your 

ice-guarded lair! 
Our larders have food for a nation! our 

wardrobes have clothing to spare! 
For oft from the corn-bladed prairies, and 

out from the valleys and hills. 
The farmer has swept us his harvests, the 

miller has emptied his mills: 
And here, in the lap of our city, the treas- 
ures of autumn shall rest. 
In golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, the 

Queen of the North and the West." 

'Twas night In the church-guarded city. 
The templed and altar-decked city. 
The sacred and spire-adorned city. 
The Queen of the North and the West. 

And out from the beautiful temples that 
Wealth in its fulness had made, 

And out from the haunts that were hum- 
ble, where poverty peacefully 
prayed, 

Where praises and thanks had been of- 
fered to Him where they rightly 
belonged, 

In peacefulness quietly homeward the wor- 
shiping multitude thronged: 

The Pharisee, laden with riches and jew- 
elry, costly and rare, 

■UTio proudly deigned thanks to Jehovah 
he was not as other men are: 

The penitent, crushed in his weakness, and 
laden with pain and with sin: 

The outcast, who yearningly waited to hear 
the glad bidding, "Come in"; 

And thus went they quietly homeward, with 
sins and omissions confessed. 

In spire-adorned, templed Chicago, the 
Queen of the North and the West. 

'Twas night in the sin-burdened city. 
The turbulent, vice-laden city. 



The sin-compassed, rogue-haunted city, 
Though Queen of the North and the West. 

And low in their caves of pollution great 
beasts of humanity growled; 

And over his money-strewn table the gam- 
bler bent fiercely and scowled: 

And men with no seeming of manhood, with 
countenance flaming and fell. 

Drank deep from the fire-laden fountains 
that spring from tlie rivers of liell; 

And men with no seeming of manhood, who 
dreaded the coming of day. 

Prowled, cat-like, for blood-purchased plun- 
der from men who were better than 
they; 

And men with no seeming of manhood, 
whose dearest craved glory was 
shame. 

Whose joys were the sorrows of others, 
whose harvests were acres of flame. 

Slunk, whispering and low, in their cor- 
ners, with bowie and pistol tight- 
pressed, 

I n rogue-haunted, sin-cursed Chicago, 
though Queen of the North and 
the West. 

'Twas night In the elegant city. 
The rich and voluptuous city. 
The beauty-th ronged, mansion-decked city, 
Gay Queen of the North and the West. 
And childhood was placidly resting in slum- 
ber untroubled and deep; 
And softly the mother was fondling her 

Innocent baby to sleep; 
And maidens were dreaming of pleasures 

and triumphs the future should 

show. 
And scanning the brightness and glory of 

joys they were never to know; 
And firesides were cheerful and happy, and 

Comfort smiled sweetly around. 
But grim Desolation and Ruin looked into 

the window and frowned: 
And pitying angels looked downward, and 

gazed on their loved ones below. 
And longed to reach forth a deliverance, 

and yearned to beat backward the 

foe; 
But Pleasure and Comfort were reigning, 

nor danger was spoken or guessed. 
In beautiful, golden Chicago, gay Queen of 

the North and the West. 

Then up in the streets of the city. 
The careless and negligent city. 
The soon-to-be-sacrificed city. 
Doomed Queen of the North and the West. 
Crept, softly and slyly, so tiny it hardly 

was worthy the name. 
Crept, slowly and softly through the rub- 
bish, a radiant serpent of flame. 
The South-wind and West-wind came shriek- 
ing, "Rouse up in your strength 
and your ire! 
For many a year they have chained you, 
and crushed you, O demon of fire! 
For many a year they have bound you, and 
made you their servant and slave! 
Now, rouse you, and dig for this city a 
fiery and desolate grave! 



72 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Freisrht heavy with grief and with wailing 
her world-scattered pride and re- 
nown! 

Charge straight on her mansions of splen- 
dor, and battle her battlements 
down! 

And vie, the strong South-wind and West- 
wind, with thrice-doubled fury pos- 
sessed. 

Will sweep with you over this city, the 
Queen of the North and the West!" 

Then straight at the great quiet city, 
The strong and o'er-confldent city, 
The well-nigh invincible city. 
Doomed Queen of the North and the West, 
The Fire-devil rallied his legions, and 

speeded them forth on the wind, 
WUth tinder and treasures before liim, with 

ruins and tempests behind. 
The tenement crushed 'neath his footstep, 

the mansion oped wide at his 

knock; 
And walls that had frowned him defiance, 

they trembled and fell with a 

shock: 
And down on the hot, smoking house-tops, 

came raining a deluge of fire; 
And serpents of flame writhed and clam- 
bered and twisted on steeple and 

spire; 
And beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of 

riches and fame. 
Was swept by a storm of destruction, was 

flooded by billows of flame. 
The Fire-king loomed high in his glory, 

with crimson and flame-streaming 

crest. 
And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, 

doomed Queen of the North and 

the West. 

Then swiftly the yuick-brea thing city. 
The fearful and panic-struck city, 
T!ie startled and flre-deluged city. 
Rushed back from the South and the West. 

And loudly the flre-bells were clanging, and 

ringing their funeral notes; 
And loudly wild accents of terror come peal- 
ing from thousands of throats; 
And loud was the wagon's deep rumbling, 

and loud the wheel's clatter and 

creak. 
And loud was the calling for succor from 

those who were sightless and 

weak. 
And loud were the hoofs of the horses, and 

loud was the tramping of feet. 
And loud was the gale's ceaseless howling 

through fire-lighted alley and 

street; 
But louder, yet louder, the crashing of roofs 

and of walls as they fell, 



And louder, yet louder, the roaring that 

told of the coming of hell. 
The Fire-king threw back his black mantle 

from off his great blood-dappled 

breast. 
And sneered in the face of Chicago, the 

Queen of the North and the West. 

'Twas morn in the desolate city. 
The ragged and ruin-heaped city. 
The homeless and hot-smoking city. 
The grief of the North and the West. 

But down from the West came the bid- 
ding, "O Queen, lift in courage 
thy head! 

Thy friends and thy neighbors awaken, and 
hasten with raiment and bread." 

And up from the South came the bidding, 
Cheer up, fairest Queen of tlie 
Lakes! 

For comfort and aid shall be coming from 
out our savannahs and brakes." 

And down from the North came the bid- 
ding, "O City, be hopeful of cheer! 

We've somewhat to spare for thy sufferers, 
for all of our suffering here." 

And up from the East came the bidding, "O 
City, be dauntless and bold! 

Look hither for food and for raiment, look 
hither for credit and gold." 

And all through the world went the bid- 
ding, "Bring hither your choicest 
and best. 

For weary and hungry Chicago — sad Queen 
of the North and the West." 

O crushed, but invincible city! 
O broken, but fast-rising city! 
O glorious, but unconquered city. 
Still Queen of the North and the West! 
The long, golden years of the future, with 

treasures increasing and rare. 
Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall 

twine in the folds of thy hair; 
From out the black heaps of thy ruins new 

columns of beauty shall rise. 
And glittering domes shall fling grandly 

our nation's proud flag to the skies; 
From off the wide prairies of splendor the 

treasures of autumn shall pour; 
The breezes shall sweep from the North- 
ward and hurry the ships to thy 

shore! 
For Heaven will look downward In mercy 

on those who've passed under the 

rod. 
And Iiapp'ly again they will prosper, and 

bask in the blessings of God. 
Once more ihou dost stand mid the cities. 

by prosperous breezes caressed, 
O grand and unconquered Chicago, still 

Queen of the North and the West: 
Will Caeleiok. 



LOVE 

and 

FRIENDSHIP 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



75 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 



A MOTHER S LOVE. 

Where the autumn sun is shining 

Through a leafy maze o'erhead, 
There a. lassie sits repining. 

All the love within her dead. 
It is but the old, old story 

Of a lover proved untrue. 
Yet life seems to lose its glory. 

All its hopeful roseate hue. 

Then, with patient, sweet endeavor. 

Lovingly her mother tries 
To dismiss despair forever, 

Chase the sorrow from her eyes. 
And the tender words revealing 

All the unspoken love of years. 
Wake a newer, holier feeling. 

Bring the priceless gift of tears. 

Well may hearts cease all repining. 

In a mother's love secure: 
Love that needs no fire's refining. 

Ever watchful, ever sure: 
Love that's like a pure stream welling 

From a heaven-fed mountain crest: 
Love all earthly love excelling — 

Love the truest and the best. 



SONNETS. 

My love, I have no fear that thou shouldst 

die: 
Albeit I ask no fairer life than this. 
Whose numbering-clock is still thy gentle 

kiss, 
While Time and Peace with hands unlocked 

fly,— 
Tet care I not where in eternity 
We live and love, well knowing that there is 
No backward step for those who feel tlie 

bliss 
Of faith as their most lofty yearnings high: 
Love hath so purified my being's core, 
Meseems I scarcely should be startled, even. 
To find, some morn, that tliou hadst gone 

before: 
Since, with thy love, this knowledge too 

was given, 
Which each calm day doth strengthen more 

and more. 
That they who love are but one step from 

heaven. 

I can not think that thou shouldst pass 

away. 
Whose life to mine is an eternal law, 
A piece of nature that can have no flaw, 
A new and certain sunrise every day; 
But if thou art to be another ray 
About the Sun of Life, and art to live 
Free from all of thee that was fugitive, 
The debt of love I will more fully pay. 



Not downcast with the thought of thee so 

high. 
But rather raised to be a nobler man. 
And more divine in my humanity, 
As knowing that the waiting eyes whicli 

scan 
My life are lighted by a purer being, 
And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it 

agreeing. 

I thought our love at full, but I did err: 
Joy's wreath drooped o'er mine eyes: I 

could not see 
Tliat sorrow in our happy world must be 
Love's deepest spokesman and interpreter. 
But as a mother feels her child first stir 
Under her heart, so felt I instantly 
Deep in my soul another bond to thee 
Thrill with that life we saw depart from 

her: 
O mother of our angel-child! twice dear! 
Death knits as well as parts, and still. I 

wis. 
Her tender radiance shall infold us here. 
Even as the light, borne up by inward bliss, 
Threads the void glooms of space without 

a fear, 
To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss. 
jAaiEs Russell Lowell. 



KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY. 

Two brown heads wih tossing curls: 
Red lips shutting over pearls: 
Bare feet, white and wet with dew: 
Two eyes black, and two eyes blue: 
Little girl and boy were they, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey. 

They were standing where a brook. 
Bending like a shepherd's crook. 
Flashed its silver, and thick ranks 
Of willow fringed its mossy banks: 
Half in thought, and half In play, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey. 

They had cheeks like cherries red; 

He was taller — 'most a head; 

She, with arms like wreaths of snow, 

Swung a basket to and fro. 

As she loitered, half in play, 

Chattering to Willie Grey. 

"Pretty Katie," Willie said — 
And there came a dash of red 
Through the brownness of his cheek— 
"Boys are strong and girls are weak. 
And I'll carry, so I will, 
Katie's basket up the hill." 

Katie answered with a laugh, 
"You shall carry only half": 
And then, tossing back her curls, 
"Boys are weak as well as girls." 
Do you think that Katie guessed 
Half the wisdom she expressed? 



76 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Men are only boys grown tall; 
Hearts don't change, much after all; 
And when, long years from that day, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey 
Stood again beside the brook. 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 

Is it strange that Willie said. 
While again a dash of red 
Crossed the brownness of his cheek, 
"I am strong and you are weak; 
Life is but a slippery steep. 
Hung witli shadows cold and deep. 

"Will you trust me, Katie dear — 
Walk beside me without fear? 
May I carry, if I will. 
All your burdens up the hill?" 
And she answered, with a laugh, 
"No, but you may carry half." 

Close beside the little brook. 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Washing with its silver hands 
Late and early at the sands. 
Is a cottage, where today 
Katie lives with Willie Grey. 

In a porch she sits, and lo! 
Swings a basket to and fro — 
Vastly different from the one 
That she swung in years agone, 
This is long and deep and wide. 
And has rockers at the side. 



A WOMAN S QUESTION. 

Do you know you have asked for the cost- 
liest thing 

Ever made by the hand above — 
A woman's heart, and a woman's life. 

And a woman's wonderful love? 

Do you know you have asked for this price- 
less thing 

As a child might ask for a toy — 
Demanding what others have died to win. 

With the reckless dash of a boy? 

You have written my lesson of duty out, 
Man-like you have questioned me; 

Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul 
Until I shall question thee. 

You require your mutton shall always be 
hot. 
Your socks and your shirts shall be 
whole; 
I require your heart to be true as God's 
stars. 
And pure as heaven your soul. 

Tou require a cook for your mutton and 
beef; 
I require a far better thing. 
A seamstress you're wanting for stockings 
and shirts; 
I look for a man and a king — 



A king for a beau,tiful realm called home. 

And a man that the Maker, God, 
Shall look upon as he did the first. 
And say, "It is very good." 

I am fair and young, but the rose will fade 
From my soft, young cheek one day; 

Win you love then, mid the falling leaves. 
As you did mid tlio bloom of May? 

Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep 
I may launch my all on its tide? 

A loving woman finds heaven or hell 
On the day she is made a bride. 

I require all things that are grand and true. 
All things that a man should be; 

If you give this all, I would stake my life 
To be all you demand of me. 

If you can not do this — a laundress and cook 
You can hire with little to pay; 

But a woman's heart and a woman's life 
Are not to be won that way. 

Elizabeth Barrett BHOwifmo. 



THE PURITAN LOVERS. 

Drawn out, like lingering bees, to share 
The last, sweet summer weather. 

Beneath the reddening maples walked 
Two puritans together — 

A youth and maiden, heeding not 

The woods which round them brightened, 

Just conscious of each other's thoughts. 
Half happy and half frightened. 

Grave were their brows, and few their words, 
.\nd coarse their garb and simple: 

The maiden's very cheek seemed shy 
To own its worldly dimple. 

For stern the time; they dwelt with Care, 

And Fear was oft a comer; 
A sober April usliered in 

The Pilgrim's toilfuJ summer. 

And stern tlieir creed: they tarried here 

Mere desert-land sojourners; 
They must not dream of mirth or rest. 

Gofl's humble lesson-learners. 

The temple's sacred perfume round 
Their week-day robes was clinging; 

Their mirth was but the golden bells 
On priestly garments ringing. 

But as today thsy softly talked. 
That serious youth and maiden. 

Their plainest words strange beauty wore. 
Like weeds with dewdrops laden. 

The saddest theme had something sweet. 
The gravest something tender. 

While with slow steps they wandered on. 
Mid summer's fading splendor. 

He said, "Next week the church will hold 
A day of prayer and fasting"; 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



77 



And then he stopped, and bent to pick 
A whlta life-everlasting: — 

A silvery bloom, with fadeless leaves — 

He guva It to her. sighing; 
A mute confession was his glance, 

Her blush a mute replying. 

"Mehetabel!" at last he spoke, 

"My fairest one and dearest! 
One thought Is ever to my heart 

The sweetest and tlie nearest. 

"You read my soul; you know my wish; 

Oh, grant me its fulfilling!" 
She answered low, "If Heaven smiles. 

And If my father's willing!" 

No Idle passion swayed lier heart. 
This quaint New England beauty! 

Faith was the guardian of her life. 
Obedience was a duty. 

Too truthful for reserve, she stood, 
Her brown eyes earthward casting. 

And held with trembling hand tlie whi'.c 
Her white Ufe-everlp.stin.i;. 

Her sober answer pleased the youth — 
Frank, clear, and gravely cheerful; 

He left her at her father's door, 
Too happy to be fearful. 

She looked on high, with earnest plea. 
And Heaven seemed bright above her; 

And when she shyly spoke his name, 
Her father praised her lover. 

And when, that night, she sought her couch. 
With head-board high and olden, 

Her prayer was praise, her pillow down. 
And all her dreams were golden. 

And still upon her throbbing heart. 

In bloom and breath undying, 
A few life-everlasting flowers. 

Her lover's gift, were lying. 

O Venus' myrtles, fresli and green! 

O Cupid's blushing roses! 
Not on your classic flowers alone 

The sacred light reposes; 

Though gentler care may shield your buds 
From north-winds rude and blasting. 

As dear to Love, those few, pale flowers 
Of white Ufe-everlasting. 

Annmb D. Orken 



WILL YOU LOVE ME WHEN i'm 
OLD? 

Will afrection still infold me 
When the day of life declines; 

When old age with ruthless rigor 
Plows my face in furrowed lines; 

When the eye forgets Its seeing, 
And the hand forgets its skill. 



And the very words prove rebel 
To the mind's once kingly will; 

When the deaf ear, strained to listen. 

Scarcely hears the opening word 
And the unfathomed depths of feeling 

Are by no swift current stirred; 
When fond memory, like a limner. 

Many a line perspective casts. 
Spreading out our bygone pleasures 

On the canvas of the past; 

When the leaping blood grows sluggish, 

And the fire of youth has fled; 
\\Tien the friends wlio now surround us 

Half are numbered with the dead; 
When the years appear to shorten, 

Scarcelj' leaving us a trace; 
Wlien Old Time with bold approaches 

Marks his dial on my face; 

When our present hopes, all gathered, 

Lie like dead flowers on our track; 
When the whole of our existence 

Is one fearful looking back; 
When each wasted hour of talent, 

Hardly measured now at all, 
Sends its witness back to haunt us. 

Like the writing on the wall; 

W^1en the ready tongue is palsied. 

And the form is bowed with care; 
WHien our only hope is heaven. 

And our only help is prayer; 
Wlien our idols, broken round us. 

Fall amid the ranks of men; 
Until Death uplifts the curtain — 

Will thy love endure till then? 



LOVE. 

There are who say the lover's heart 

Is in the loved one's merged; 
Oh, never by love's own warm art 

So cold a plea was urged! 
Xo! — hearts that love hath crowned or 
crossed 

Love fondly knits together; 
But not a thought or hue is lost 

That made a part of either. 



It is an ill-told tale that tells 
Of "hearts by love made one": 

He grows who near another's dwells 
More conscious of his own; 

In each spring up new thoughts and powers 

That, mid love's warm, clear weather. 

Together tend like climbing flowers. 
And, turning, grow together. 

Such fictions blink love's better part, 

Yield up its half of bliss; 
The wells are in the neighbor heart, 

When there is thirst in this: 
There findeth love the passion-flowers 

On which it learns to thrive. 
Makes honey in another's bowers, 

But brings it home to hive. 



78 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Love's life is in its own replies — 

To eacli low beat it beats, 
Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the 
sighs, 

And every throb repeats. 
Then, since one loving- heart still throws 

Two shadows in love's sun, 
How shouild two loving hearts compose 

And mingle into one? 

Thomas Kibbl& Hebvet. 



KISSES. 

The kiss of friendship, kind and calm, 
May fall upon the brow like balm; 
A deeper tenderness may speak 
In precious pledges on tlie cheek; 
Thrice dear may be, when young lips meet. 
Love's dewy pressure, close and sweet; 
But more than all the rest I prize 
The faithful lips that kiss my eyes. 

Smile, lady, smile, when courtly lips 
Touch reverently your finger-tips; 
Blush, happy maiden, when you feel 
The lips which press love's glowing seal; 
But as the slow years darklier roll. 
Grown wiser, the experienced soul 
Will own as dearer far than they 
The lips which kiss the tears away! 
Elizabeth Aker» Allen. 



POSSESSION. 

"It was our wedding-day 

A month ago," dear heart, I hear you say. 

If months, or years, or ages since have 
passed, 

I know not; I have ceased to question Time. 

I only know that once there pealed a chime 

Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast. 

And all stood back, and none my right de- 
nied. 

And forth we walked; the world was free 
and wide 

Before us. Since that day 

I count my life; the past is washed away. 

It was no dream, that vow; 

It was the voice that woke me from a 

dream — • 
A happy dream, I think — but I am waking 

now. 
And drink the splendor of a sun supreme 
That turns the mist of former tears to gold. 
Within these arms I hold 
The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain: 
Ah, weary bird! thou wilt not fly again; 
Thy wings are clipped, thou canst no more 

depart^ 
Thy nest is builded in my heart. 

I was the crescent; thou 

The silver phantom of the perfect sphere. 

Held in its bosom: in one glory now- 

Our lives united shine, and many a year — 

Not the sweet moon of bridal only — we 

One luster, ever at the full, shall be; 



One pure and rounded light, one planet 

whole. 
One life developed, one completed soul! 
For I In thee, and thou in me. 
Unite our cloven halves of destiny. 

God knew his chosen time; 

He bade me slowly ripen to my prime, 

And from my boughs withheld the prom- 
ised fruit, 

Till storm and sun gave vigor to the root. 

Secure, O Love! secure 

Thy blessing is; I have thee day and night; 

Thou art become my blood, my life, my 
light: 

God's mercy thou, and therefore Shalt en- 
dure. 

Batabd Taylob. 



HER NAME THE COUNTERSIGN. 

'Twas near the break of day, but still 

The moon was shining brightly; 
The west wind as it passed the flowers 

Set each one swaying lightly; 
The sentry slow paced to and fro, 

A faithful night-watch keeping, 
While in the tents behind him stretched 

His comrades — all were sleeping. 

Slow, to and fro, the sentry paced. 

His musket on his shoulder, 
But not a thought of death or war 

Was with the brave young soldier; 
Ah, no! his heart was far away, 

Wliere on a Western prairie 
A rose-twined cottage stood. That night 

The countersign was "Mary." 

And there his own true love he saw. 

Her blue eyes kindly beaming. 
Above them on her sun-kissed brow 

Her curls like sunshine gleaming. 
And heard her singing as she churned 

The butter in the dairy. 
The song he loved the best. That night 

The countersign was "Mary." 

"Oh, for one kiss from her!" he sighed. 

When up the lone road glancing. 
He spied a form, a little form. 

With faltering steps advancing; 
And as it neared him silently. 

He gazed at it in wonder, 
Then dropped his musket to his hand. 

And challenged, "Who goes yonder?" 

Still on it came. "Not one step more, 

Be you man, child, or fairy. 
Unless you give the countersign. 

Halt! Who goes there?" — " 'Tis Mary," 
A sweet voice cried, and in his arms 

The girl he'd left behind him 
Half fainting fell. O'er many miles 

She'd bravely tolled to find him. 

"I heard that you were wounded, dear," 
She sobbed. "My heart was breaking; 

I could not stay a moment, but 
All other ties forsaking. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



79 



I traveled, by my grief made strong, 
Kind Heaven watching o'er me, 

Until unhurt and well" — "Yes, love. 
At last you stood before me." 

"They told me that I could not pass 

The lines to seek my lover 
Before day fairly came; but I 

Pressed on ere night was over. 
And as I told my name, I found 

The way as free as prairie." 
"Because, thanlt God! tonight," he said, 

"The countersign is 'Mary.' " 

Makgaret Ettinge. 



APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 

Underneath an apple-tree 

Sat a maiden and her lover. 
And the thoughts within her he 

Teamed, in silence, to discover. 
Round them danced the sunbeams bright. 

Green the grass-lawn stretched before 
him, 
•WTiile the apple-blossoms white 

Hung In rich profusion o'er them. 

Naught within her eyes he read 

That would tell her mind unto him; 
Though their light, he after said. 

Quivered swiftly through and through 
him; 
Till at last his heart burst free 

From the prayer witli which 'twas laden. 
And he said, "When wilt thou be 

Mine forevermore, fair maiden?" 

"When," said she, "the breeze of May 

With white flakes our heads shall cover, 
I will be thy brideling gay — ■ 

Thou Shalt be my husband-lover." 
"How," said he, in sorrow bowed, 

"Can I hope such hopeful weather? 
Breeze of May and winter's cloud 

Do not often fly together." 

Quickly as the words he said. 

From the west a wind came sighing. 
And on each uncovered head 

Sent the apple-blossoms flying; 
" 'Flakes of white!' thou'rt mine," said he, 

"Sooner than thy wish or knowing!" 
"Nay, I heard the breeze," quoth she, 

"When in yonder forest blowing." 

Will Caeleton. 



REFLECTIONS. 

'Tis late; the sun is sinking in the west; 
The wind moans lonesome through the 
waving trees: 
The twifring birds have hushed to seek 
their rest; 
The swallow's wing beats homeward on 
the breeze. 

The river moans and ripples as It flows; 
The moon is rising now upon the scene; 



The stars are stealing slowly from their 
close. 
And adding pleasure to the thought se- 
rene. 

Upon this bank I have stood in days gone by; 

In youth's bright, happy hours I've wan- 
dered here, 

W)th one who now is sleeping silently 
Beneath the sod, whose voice I'll never 
hear! 

Ah, yes! upon this bank of rocks and sand. 
Beneath the shady trees that bow above, 

I kissed her cheeks, and pressed her lit- 
tle hand. 
And spoke to her in tender words of love. 

How often has she knelt to write her name 
Upon the ground upon the river's strand. 
And stood and watched tlie wavelets as 
they came. 
And washed tlie writing from the glitter- 
ing sand! 

She knew not then while standing by my 

side, 

And gazing at her name as 't disappeared, 

That her own life, so lovely — and my pride — 

Was pictured there in emblems she had 

reared. 

Ah, life Is short! but oh, how beautiful 
Is hers to me while memory draws it 
nigh! 
How gentle! oh, how mild and dutiful 
Wlaa she, who — lovely, darling girl — 
should die! 

Yes, time has borne her from this sacred 
place; 
No longer meet we by the river's shore, 
No more shall I behold her lovely face. 
And her sweet voice sliall greet me, never 
more! 

John \V. EvEnETT. 



ALONE. 

O golden moon, that sifts thy yellow dust 
In gleaming nist o'er all the silent earth. 
Tell me, dost look upon another face 
So sad as mine, another heart so sad? 

Tour light falls soothing as a mother's 
touch 

On fevered brow in childhood's nervous 
dream. 

For well I know upon another form 

That wanders in far lands you smile to- 
night. 

Oh, one bright star that looks into the room 
Where he has been, but, ah! so silent now, 
Tou seem to waver on with my despair; 
You hear me sigh and say, "He is not here." 

And sweet south-wifd that comes across 
the flowers 



80 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Of my own sunny southlanrl in its bloom, 
Tou whisper to ma in soft, fluttering tones 
As faintly low as pulse of dying day. 

Tou bid me rest. Your message from my 
love 

Sheds boundless peace and joy ineffable. 

Thy fragrant breath Is warm from off liis 
lips; 

Oh! touch my face and leave his heart- 
breath there. 

Touch thou mine eyes, my lips, O sweet 

south-wind. 
And gatlier there the kisses that are his; 
Oh! waft them to him on thy scented breath 
To where he wanders — far from love and 

me. 

O KOlden moon, and stars, and fragrant 

winds. 
Shine brightly — gently blow upon my love: 
O heaven-lights, in safety guJde his steps 
To where the heart he knows is true awaits. 

And winds, take from my lips its guarded 

kiss: 
Fly swiftly with it to my lover's lips, 
Nor linger, lest the greedy air absorb 
One heart-throb of that passlonful caress. 



But tliis — the gone is happier 
Than one she leaves behind? 

Have you a friend, a comrade dear, 

An old and valued friend? 
Be sure your term of sweet concourse 

At length will have an end. 
And when you part — ^as part you will — 

Oh, take it not unkind 
If he who goes is liappier 

Than you he leaves behind! 

God wills it so — and so it is; 

The pilgrims on their way, 
Thougii weak and worn, more cheerful aro 

Than all the rest who stay; 
And wlien, at last, poor man, subdued, 

Lies down to death resigned. 
May he not still be happier far 

Than those he leaves behind? 

Edwakd Pollock. 



MY LOVER. 

What if my lover be dark, or fair — 

I have no wish; I do not care. 

If only his manly, honest face 

Shows in each feature an inwai-d grace 



Te whispering winds that fill my heart with | wTiat if my lover be tall, or slight- 



praise. 

Till all my soul speaks in a jubilate. 
Ye bid me rest; and peace thrills every vein. 
And restlessness falls swooningly away. 

EUGENIB E. GLABK. 



THE PARTING HOUR. 

(Kdwnrd Pollock, the gifted Callfomlan pool. 
baodotl the following poem to a friend of bis who 
was about to depart on a steamer for Oregon, and 
said, "Take this; you may perhaps read and appre- 
ciate the sentiment long after I have ceased to be 
among the living."! 

There's something in the "parting hour" 

Win cheer the warmest heart. 
Yet kindred, comrades, lovers, friends. 

Are fated all to part; 
But this I've seen — and many a page 

Has pressed it on my mind — 
The one who goes is happier 

Than those he leaves behind. 

No matter what the journey be — 

Adventurous, dangerous, far. 
To the wild deep or black frontier. 

To solitudo or war — 
Still something cheers the heart that dares 

In all of human kind 
And they who go are happier 

Than those they leave behind. 

The bride goes to the bridegroom's home 
With doubtings and with tears. 

But does not Hope her rainbow spread 
Across her cloudy fears? 

Alaa! the mother who remains. 
What comfort can she find 



1 do not care, if only his sight 

Be lifted above earth's sordid care 

To see God's handiwork, true and fair. 

What if m.v lover be poor, or ricii — 
To me it makes no difference whicli; 
If only his heart be stanch and true. 
His hand will lead me safely through. 

What if my lover be famous, or no — 
Fame may fade, or perchance may grow; 
If he comes to me his manhood clear 
From the stain of sin, I will not fear. 

Somewhere he tarries and waits for me. 
Sometime his face I shall surely see; 
For I shall know when my king I meet. 
My soul will rise and his coming greet. 
RAUilt E. P. McLban. 



THEY NEVER QUITE LEAVE US. 

They never quite leave us, our friends who 
have passed 
Through the shadows of death to the sun- 
light above: 
A thousand sweet memories are holding 
them fast 
To the places they blessed with their 
presence and love. 
The work which they left and the books 
which they read 
Speak miitely, though still with an elo- 
quence rare, 
And the songs that they sang, the words 
that they said. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



81 



Yet linger and sigh on tlie desolate air. 
And oft wlien alone, and oft in the throng, 
Or when evil allures us, or sin draweth 
nigh, 
A whisper comes gently, "Nay, do not the 
wronff," 
And we feel that our weakness is pitied 
on high. 

Maroarft k. .Sanoster. 



AND A CHILD SHALL LEAD 
THEM." 

I thought, on our marriage morning, that 

never a cloud would rise 
To mar the brightness and beauty that 

gladdened earth and skies; 
Never a minor cadence be heard in the 

blithe, sweet strain 
Of the song that love was singing to the 

wedding-bells' refrain. 

In our little home under the roses we took 
u.p the tasks of life. 

And Love was our guest, and he strength- 
ened the heart of each for the strife 

By his tender and thoughtful counsel that 
brought to the time of need 

Such boon as the sun and the showers 
bring to the quickening seed. 

When the little one came to brighten our 

home with its winsome face, 
I fancied that heaven must be lacking the 

charm that was round the place. 
The sound of its mirth and prattle made 

music all the day. 
And never a shadow gathered that It could 

not laugh away. 

God knows — and God knows only! — how I 

loved that little child. 
It was like a glimpse of heaven wlien he 

looked at me and smiled; 
And ever and ever, whenever I kissed the 

baby's eyes, 
I whispered a "Thank thee. Father," for 

this gift from Paradise. 

But one day the sweet blue blossoms of 

the baby eyes were missed. 
And the heavy lids that hid them lifted 

not when they were kissed, 
And the house was oh, so silent! for no 

pattering feet were heard, 
And no echo in the shadows by the baby's 

voice was stirred. 

In the lonesome time of midnight God's 

messenger-angel came. 
And, bending over the cradle, spoke softly 

the baby's name: 
Then the little hands were lifted, the blue 

eyes opened wide. 
And into the face of the angel the baby 

smiled — and died. 

We made him a grave in the garden un- 
der the lilac-trees. 



Wliere he loved to play and prattle, and 
hear the hum of the bees. 

When we went back o'er the tlireshold 
home was a desolate place. 

For the sliadow of deatli had hidden the 
sunshine of baby's face. 

So sad was the hearthstone after the 

baby had gone away 
That I tried to lose my sorrow in hard 

work, day by day. 
I fancied the baby's mother was glad to 

be left alone. 
And, craving the bread of loving words, 

she was answered with a stone. 

So it was that I, unknowing the need of 

a stricken heart 
For love's balm in time of trouble, broke 

the bonds of love apart; 
She thought me cold, unloving, and never 

once thought I 
That a heart might break in silence. And 

so the days went by. 

Now as I look back over tliat sorrowful 

year of life, 
I see the mistakes that made it a time 

of stress and strife, 
God help our human blindness! God pity 

tlie heart that aches 
■Ulien it knows — too late! — the sorrow that 

comes of its sad mistakes! 

Like a rill that at first is so narrow that 

a step might turn it aside, 
But grows to become a river, mighty, 

and deep, and wide. 
So the trouble grew till our pathways were 

parted by the stream, 
-Vnd the love we had pledged each other 

was a half-remembered dream. 

At last the storm broke fiercely; I know 

not how it came; 
It may have been a fretful frown was 

like wind that fanned the flame; 
It may have been that a harsh word kindled 

into a blaze 
The smoldering fire of the passion that 

grew in those evil daj's. 

Oh, words in hot anger spoken! They cut 

our hearts like steel, 
But we forgot, in our passion, that human 

hearts can feel. 
Forgot — may God forgive us! — the grave 

on summer green, 
WTiere the link in the broken love-chain 

lay in the lilac-roots between. 

I never knew how it happened, or which 
one shaped the plan — 

It formed itself, I fancy, as the things of 
evil can — 

But we said that day to each other, hence- 
forth we would live apart. 

For love could tarrj* no longer as guest In 
home or heart. 



82 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



So it was that the nig-ht before Christmas 

Mary and I agreed 
To seek separate ways on the morrow, 

and, wherever those ways might lead, 
We would strive to forget each other and 

heal the wounds of the heart 
By the ashes of love that deaden the pain 

and its cruel smart. 

I stood in the lonesome twilight and looked 

down the garden way 
Towards the little grave in the lilacs 

wliere the moon's white glory lay, 
And I saw, kneeling down beside it, her 

face with tears all wet. 
The motlier whose heart was aching with 

the love it could not forget. 

I know not what impulse moved me to go 

to the little grave; 
I think that one of God's angels, sent 

earthward to help and save. 
Laid its hand on my heart that inoment, 

and lo! its anger fled. 
And towards the grave in the lilacs I went 

softly, angel-led. 

1 heard the sound of her sobbing as I came 

near the place. 
And I paused, apart in the shadow, with 

a rain of tears on my face, 
And I heard her wailing, crying, "O little 

one, how can I go 
And leave you here — and leave you here, 

I loved you, loved you so! 

"In all the world, my baby, this is tlie 

only spot — • 
Tour little grave — that I care to keep, and 

I can claim it not. 
Tour father has turned me from his heart, 

and I may not even keep 
For my own the place where my little one 

lies under the grass asleep!" 

Almost before T knew It I knelt by the 

little one's bed, 
And I stretched my arms across it, and 

wild, swift words were said. 
"Forgive, oh, forgive!" I pleaded. "Here 

by the baby's grave 
Let us promise to love each other. Forgive 

as Christ forgave!" 

I held my arms out toward her, I whis- 
pered, "Mary, come!" 

And Love swung wide the heart's closed 
door, crying softly, "Welcome home!" 

And across the grave of our baby she crept 
to my arms again. 

And I know the little one smiled in sleep. 
and dreamed of his mother then! 

As I held her close to my bosom, and 
kissed her tears away, 

Suddenly out of the silence the bells be- 
gan to play — 

The bells of the Christmas morning, that 
sang of a Savior's birth — ■ 

And peace was the music's burden, "Be 
Peace, be Peace on Earth!" 



"Be peace between us, my liusband," slie 

whispered with a kiss. 
"There was a Bethlehem Christ-child, but 

oh ! be sure of this — ■ 
Our little Christ-child this moment swings 

tlie door of his grave apart. 
And reaches his little hands upward to 

hold us heart to heart." 

And so, on that Christmas morning, we 

put the past away, 
And Love came back to the hearthstone, 

and there he dwells today. 
And we love to think, as we stand by the 

grave of the babe no sin defiled. 
That Into the beautiful Land of Peace we 

were led by a little child. 

Eben E. RKXi-OItD. 



W.HERE EVER THOU ART. 

Where over thou art is the place made most 

fair, 
Like a palace adorned with gems costly and 

rare; 
But the house of a king would seem empty 

and drear. 
Were love's lamp not shining o'er all briglit 

and clear. 
Oh, I know that the light In thy dear loving 

eyes 
Will send its bright beams wliere tlie dark 

shadow lies; 
Both care and despair will be driven away. 
From tlie break of the dawn till tlie close of 

the day. 

Where ever thou art doth the night bring 
repose. 

For thy presence makes friends of the fier- 
cest of foes; 

In the morning brings joy, witli the evening 
comes peace. 

And the visions of sleep only see these in- 
crease; 

For In dreams are the heart's secret cham- 
bers thrown wide. 

And the thoughts freely flow with the life- 
giving tide. 

No evil can come where love sits on tlie 
throne. 

And happy are they who his scepter doth 
own. 

Where ever thou art is the music so sweet. 
That the lonely and sad haste to sit at thy 

feet: 
Wlien they soon are enabled to join in the 

song. 
While the angels of heaven the chorus 

prolong; 
For forever thou voicest the unfathomed 

theme, 
The love which is flowing with Calvary's 

stream; 
And the happy and hungry receive from 

above, 
What is always the need of all human 

hearts — love! 

H. E. McCOLLtlM. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



83 



GOOD-BY. 

We say it for an hour or for years; 
W« say it smiling, say it clioked with tears; 
Wa say it coldly, say it with a kiss; 
And yet we have no other word than this— 

"Good-by." 

We have no dearer word for our heart's 

friend. 
For him who journeys to the world's far 

end 
And scars ouir soul with going : thus we say, 
As unto him who steps but o'er our way — 

"Good-by." 

Alike to those we love and those we hate, 
W© say no more at parting. At life's gate, 
To him who passes out beyond earth's sight. 
We cry as to the wanderer for a night — 

"Good-by." 



WHERE? oh! where? 

Oh! is there not a land where love re- 
gains 
Its treasures, lost amid the whirls of time? 
Shall sorrow never cease, nor grief assuage 
Its pangs, save thro' the lapse of years un- 
told? 
Is there no clime celestial, where the skies 
Serene o'erhang in peace the lovely scenes 
Below? And underneath those skies serene 
Are there no "babbling brooks," no "silent 

shades "? 
Nor sunny hillside having wide outlook 
O'er verdant mead, where, seated, groups of 

friends 
Of olden time, might gather up the links 
Of love long sundered, and resume the chain 
Enchanted, 'neath the sweet entrancing 
bond? 
• •*«**«*« 

Oh yes! There is a land which Love Su- 
preme 
Has set apart for those who truly love: 
"For he who loves is born of God," Beyond, 
Oh, far beyond that sea of limpid green 
It lies, on which the evening cloudlet floats, 
While yet in glorious beauty o'er the skies. 
The sunlight lingers as the day declines. 
There, in that land, there shall be no more 

night. 
Nor yet tempestuous sea, nor brooding 

storm. 
Trouble no more shall lift her qulv'ring 

spear 
Against the afflicted soul, nor grief invade, 
Nor care affright within those sacred 

bounds. 
There Peace benignant smiles 'neath cloud- 
less skies: 
The King Eternal there in beauty sits 
With face unveiled; thither love's exiles 

hera 
By death set free all haste. Loving and 

loved 
In groups once more; they freely roam 
from brook 



To shade, or sunny hillside, or upon 
Thy banks reclined, O lovely stream of life, 
Kecount their wand'rings o'er thro' mists 

and mazo 
Of time. Sweet grows the chain of Love, 

and dear. 
With each fond link recovered from the dim. 
And distant past, the slow receding past 
Of earth, and earthly life. 

.SAMOEI, FlNLBY. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A 
FRIEND. 

Away! ere the spring blossoms flicker 

Though hillsides with rus.set and gold. 
Ere the song of the birds in tho May-time, 

We lay thee, sweet friend, in the moldT' 
In the dew of thy morning, the Master 

With tenderest pity stooped down; 
He sought thee to brigliten his chaplet, 

To wear thee a gem in his crown. 

Gentle and loving, he called thee; 

Go at his bidding, nor fear; 
Bright in the land of immortals 

Opens thy beautiful year! 
Sleep peacefully, love, it is over — 

The brief, silvery ripples are still. 
And the sheen of thy presence shall hover 

To hallow all joy and all ill. 

Attuned to new rapture, she Iieareth 

Strains wondrously sweeter than ours; 
So swift from our bleak winter passing, 

She trod on unperishing flowers! 
Her pinions have lightened the valley. 

And lifted the thickness of gloom; 
For, ajar through the portals, a zephyr 

Drifts back from a billow of bloom! 

Not for thee, but for us be our sadness — • 

The weight of life's burden to bear. 
Thick studded with dangers to baffle,. 

A fetter so weary to wear! 
Safe sheltered forever thou sleepest! 

No harm to thy pillow can come; 
Tlie Father, with gentle compassion. 

Hath tenderly taken thee home! 

MABGARE-f A. B. Scott. 



THE LONGEST DAY. 

The summer's story 

Has reached Its glory. 
Fulfilling all the sweet dreams of May; 

The daylight lingers. 

With rosy fingers 
Defying night on the longest day. 

Yet I remember 

No dark December 
When suinbeams seemed to elude delay. 

Like those which measure 

The hours of pleasure 
I spend with you on the longest day. 



84 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



With you beside me 

To cheer and guide me, 
I fee! — wliatever the sages say — 

That evening shadows 

Across the meadows 
Oome all too soon on the longest day. 

If we together 

Face sunny weather, 
And love each other when skies are gray. 

Life's span shall be, dear, 

To you and me, dear. 
As short and sweet as the longest day. 

And, dearest, after 
The tears and laughter 

Are all forgotten and passed away. 
We two forever. 
Where night falls never. 

Will spend together the longest day. 

Rllen T. Powleh. 



WITHOUT YOU. 

Without you, love, the day would hold no 

light. 
The kindly stars would vanish from the 

night. 
The flowers would forget to wake at morn. 
The rose die sleeping, leaving but the 

thorn, — - 
Without you. 

Without you, love, no promise would be 

bright, 
Hope's golden sun would darken at its 

height. 
The world of all its glory would be shorn. 
And I should be a wanderer, forlorn — 
Wltliout you. 

Henet Dumont. 



PATIENCE WITH THE LIVING. 

Sweet friend, when thou and I are gone 

Beyond earth's weary labor, 
When small shall be our need of grace 

From comrade or from neighbor; 
Passed all the strife, the toil, the care, 

And done with all the sighing — • 
What tender ruth shall we have gained, 

Alas, by simply dying? 

Then lips too chary of their praise 

W^U tell our merits over. 
And eyes too swift our faults to see 

Shall no defects discover; 
Then hands that would not lift a stone. 

Where stones were thick to cumber 
Our steep hill path, will scatter flowers 

Above our pillowed slumber. 

Sweet friend, perchance both thou an J I, 

Rre love is past forgiving, 
Should take the earnest lesson home — 

Be patient with the living. 
Today's repressed rebuke may save 



Our blinding tears tomorrow; 
Then patience, e'en with keenest edge. 
May whet a nameless sorrow! 

'Tis easy to be gentle when 

Death's silence shames our clamor. 
And easy to discern the best 

Through memory's mystic glamor, 
But wise it were for thee and me. 

Ere love is past forgiving, 
To take the tender lesson home — 

Be patient with the living. 



OUTGROWN. 

Nay, you wrong her, my friend, she's not 
fickle; her love she has simply outgrown: 

One can read the whole matter, translating 
her heart by the light of one's own. 

Can you bear me to talk with you frankly? 

Tiiere is*much tiiat my heart would say: 
And you. know we were children together. 

have quarreled and "made up" in play 

And so, for the sake of old friendship, I 
venture to tell you the truth — 

As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I 
might in our earlier youth. 

Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you 
stood on the selfsame plane. 

Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming 
your souls could be parted again. 

She loved you at that time entirely, in the 
bloom of her life's early May; 

And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she 
does not love you today. 

Nature never stands still, nor souls either: 
they ever go up or go down; 

And hers has been steadily soaring — but 
how has it been with your own? 

She has struggled and yearned and aspired, 
grown purer and wiser each year; 

The stars are not farther above you in yon 
luminous atmosphere! 

For she whom you crowned with fresli 
roses, down yonder, five summers ago, 

Has learned that the first of our duties to 
God and ourselves is to grow. 

Her eyes, they are sweeter and calmer, but 
their vision is clearer as well; 

Her voice has a tenderer cadence, but is 
pure as a silver bell. 

Her face has the look worn by those wlio 
with God and angels have talked; 

The white robes she wears are less white 
than the spirits with whom she ha.« 
walked. 

And you,? Have you aimed at the highest? 

Have you, too, aspired and prayed? 
Have you looked upon evil unsullied? Have 

you conquered it undismayed? 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



8fi 



Have you, too, grown purer and wiser, as the 
months and the years have rolled on? 

Did you meet her this morning rejoicins in 
the triumph of victory won? 

Xay, hear me! The truth can not harm you. 

When today in her presence you stood, 
Was the hand that you gave her as white 

and clean as that of her womanhood? 

Go measure yourself by her standard. Look 
back on the years that have fled; 

Then ask, if you need, why she tells you 
that the love of her girlhood is dead! 

She can not look down to her lover: her 

love like her soul, aspires; 

He must stand by her side, or above her, 

who would kindle its holy fires. 

Now farewell! For the sake of old friendship 
I have ventured to tell you the truth, 

.\s plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I 
might in our earliest youth. 

.fn.iA C. K. Dour. 



TRUE LOVE BETTER THAN GOLD. 

We started one morn, my love and I, 

On a journey brave and bold; 
T'was to find the end of the rainbow , 

And the buried bag of gold. 
But the clouds rolled by the summer's sky, 

And the radiant bow grew dim. 
And we lost the way where the treasure lay, 

Near the sunset's golden rim. 

The twilight fell like a curtain 

Pinned with the evening star, 
.\nd we saw in the shining heavens 

The new moon's golden car. 
And we said, as our hands clasped fondly. 

"What though we found no gold? 
Our love is a richer treasure 

Than the rainbow's sack can hold " 

And years, with their joys and sorrows, 

Have passed since we lost the way 
To the beautiful buried treasure 

At the end of the rainbow's rays; 
But love has been true and tender. 

And life has been rich and sweet. 
And we still clasp hands with the olden joy 

That made our day complete. 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING 
TONIGHT. 

England's sun was slowly setting- 

O'er the hills so far away. 
Filling all the land with beauty 

At the close of one sad day; 
And the last rays kissed the forehead 

Of a man and maiden fair- — 
He with step so slow and weakened. 

She with sunny, floating hair; 
He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, 

She with lips so cold and white. 



Struggling to keep back the murmur, 
"Curfew must not ring tonight." 

"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered. 

Pointing to the prison old. 
With its walls so dark and gloomy — 

Wall so dark, and damp, and cold — 
"I've a lover in that prison. 

Doomed this very night to die, 
At the ringing of the curfew. 

And no earthly help is nigh. 
Cromwell will not come till sunset"; 

And her face grew strangely white. 
As she spoke in husky whispers, 

"Curfew must not ring tonight." 

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — 

Every word pierced her young heart 
Like a thousand gleaming arrovs. 

Like a deadly poisoned dart — 
"Long, long years I've rung the curfew 

From that gloomy shadowed tow'r; 
Every evening, just at sunset. 

It has told the twilight hour. 
I have done my duty ever. 

Tried to do it just and right; 
Now I'm old, I will not miss it; 

Girl, the curfew rings tonight!" 

Wild her eyes and pale her features. 

Stern and white her thoughtful brow. 
And within her heart's deep center, 

Bessie made a solemn vow. 
She had listened while the judges 

Read, without a tear or sigh, 
"At the ringing of the curfew 

Basil Underwood must die." 
And her breath came fast and faster. 

And her eyes grew large and bright; 
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — 

"Curfew must not ring tonight." 

She with light step bounded forward. 

Sprang within the old church door, 
Left the old man coming slowly. 

Paths he'd often trod before; 
Not one moment paused the maiden. 

But with cheek and brow aglow. 
Staggered up the gloomy towei, 

Wliere the bell swung to and fro; 
Then she ciimbed the slimy ladder, 

Dark, without one ray of light. 
Upward still, her pale lips saying, 

"Curfew shall not ring tonight." 

She has reached the topmost ladder, 

0'6i her hangs the great dark bell. 
And the awful gloom beneath her. 

Like the pathway down to hell. 
See, the ponderous tongu* is swinging, 

'Tis the hour of curfew now; 
And the si.ijht has chilled her bosom, 

Stopped her breath, and paled her brow. 
Shall she let it ring? No, never! 

Her eyes flash with sudden light. 
As she springs and grasps it ilrmly — 

"Curfew shall not ring tonight." 

Out she swung, far out, the city 
Seemed a tiny speck below; 



8i5 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, 

As the bell swung to and fro; 
And the half-deaf sexton ringing: 

(Years he had not heard the bell), 
And he thought the twilight curfew 

Rang young Basil's funeral knell; 
Still the maiden clinging firmly. 

Cheek and brow so pale and white. 
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — 

"Curfew shall not ring tonight." 

It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, 

And the maiden stepped once more 
Firmly on the damp old ladder, 

Wliere for hundred years before 
Human foot had not been planted; 

And what she this night had done 
Should be told in long years after: 

As the rays of setting sun 
Light the sky witli mellow beauty. 

Aged sires with lieads of wliite, 
Tell the children why the curfew 

Did not ring that one sad night. 

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; 

Bessie saw him, and her brow, 
Lately white with sickening terror. 

Glows with sudden beauty now. 
At his feet she told her story. 

Showed her hands all bruised and torn; 
And her sweet young face so haggard, 

ViTth a look so sad and worn. 
Touched liis heart with sudden pity. 

Lit his eyes witli misty light; 
"Go, your lover lives!" cried Cromwell; 

"Curfew shall not ring tonight." 



A WOMAN S QUESTION. 

Before I trust my fate to thee, 

Or place my hand in tiiine: 
Before I let thy future give 

Color and form to mine; 
Before I peril all for thee, 
Question thy soul tonight for me. 

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel 

A sliadow of regret; 
Is there one link within the past 

That holds thy spirit yet? 
Oh, is thy faith as clear and free 
As that which I can pledge to thee? 

Does there within thy dimmest dreams 

A possible future shine 
■Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe 

Untouched, unshared by mine? 
If so, at any pain or cost. 
Oh, tell me, before all is lost 

Look deeper still; if thou canst feel 

Within thy inmost soul 
That thou hast kept a portion back 

\V1iile T have staked tlie wliole. 
Let no false pity spare the blow. 
But in true mercy tell me so. 

Is there within thy heart a need 
That mine can not fulfil? 



One chord that any other hand 

Could better wake or still? 
Speak now — lest at some future day 
M.V whole life wither and decay. 

Lives there within thy nature hid 

Tlie demon spirit Change, 
Shedding a passing glory still 

On all tilings new and strange? 
It may not be thy fault alone, 
But shield my heart against thy own. 

Couldst tliou witlidraw thy liand one day 

And answer to my claim 
That fate and today's mistake — 

Not thou — had been to Ijlame? 
Some soothe their conscience thus, but thou 
Wilt surely warn and save me now. 

Nay, answer not; I dare not hear — 
The words would come too late; 

Yet, I would spare thee all remorse. 
So comfort thee my fate. 

Whatever on my heart may fall. 

Remember, I would risk it all. 



A MAN S ANSWER. 

Before thou trust thy fate to me 

Or place thy hand in mine. 
Or ere thou lettest my future give 

Color and form to thine. 
Since thou must peril all for me. 
Accept my answer true to thee. 

I know the bonds that thou must break, 

Tlie tender fam'ly tie; 
I pledge to thee — this promise make: 

My love shall never die. 
My faith, oh, may it be as free 
As that whicli thou dost pledge to me! 

My dreams, dear love, are all of thee. 
My thoughts by day and night; 

Tea, every hour thy face I see. 
Thy soul so pure and white. 

I promise thee, at any cost, 

Thy love for me shall not be lost. 

Yet deeper still thou'dst have me look — 

Into my very soul, 
E'en into every inmost nook — 

Then let the truth be whole. 
I answer now on bended knee, 
My very life I'd give for thee. 

Oh, may there not within my heart 

One single thought appear 
To cause me not to do m.v part. 

Or wring from thee a tear! 
List now — I swear by all that's true, 
I give my heart, my all, to you. 

No secret of my heart I hold 
From thee, my love, from thee. 

May our devotion ne'er grow cold; 
Through life I cling to thee. 

I promise tliee no fault of mine 

Shall ever tear my life from thine 



LOVE AXD FRIENDSHIP. 



87 



Should I withdraw my heart and hand 

And blot out all the past, 
I could not feel myself a man — 

I'd love thee to the last. 
I swear to thee my strong- right arm 
Shall shield and keep thee from all harm. 

I could not think the cursed thought 

That would fore'er us part, 
And turn my happiness to naught — 

Nay, wicked thought, depart. 
I take thee, love, for what thou art; 
Oh, come and dwell within my heart! 



PARTING WORDS. 

When lovers part at eventide 

To meet again tomorrow, 
With laughing lips and backward glance, 

Undimmed by thought of sorrow, 
Ah, then, as glows the sickle moon, 

And soft distils the dew, 
Wliat other word so fitting sweet 

As, "Love, adieu, adieu"? 

Wlien true friends part whose lives in one. 

Like rippling streamlets blended. 
As clinging hands and tearful eyes 

Bespeak that all is ended, 
Ah, then beneath life's summer noon. 

Or autumn's stormier sky. 
What word so fond on friendship's Mps 

As, "Friend, good-by, good-by"? 

Wlien o'er some life knit to our own 

Death's darkness settles stilly, 
As fades the love-light from the eyes. 

And falls the clasped hand chilly; 
With raining tears and aching loss 

That tears may not dispel. 
The tortured heart throbs to the lips, 

"Farewell, beloved farewell." 

MBS. Melissa E. Banta. 



RESOLUTION OF RUTH. 

Farewell? Oh no! it may not be; 

My firm resolve is heard on high; 
I will not breathe farewell to thee. 

Save only in my dying sigh. 
I know not, that I now could bear 

Forever from thy side to part. 
And live without a friend to share 

The treasured sadness of my heart. 

I did not love, in former years. 

To leave thee solitary now; 
When sorrow dims thine eyes with tears. 

And shades the beauty of thy brow, 
I'll share the trial and the pain; 

And strong the furnace fires must be, 
To melt away the willing chain 

That binds a daugliter's heart to thee. 

I will not boast a martyr's might. 
To leave my home without a sigh, 

The dwelling of my past delight. 
The shelter where I hoped to die. 



In such a duty, such an hour. 

The weak are strong, the timid brave, 
For Love puts on an angel's power, 

And Faith grows mightier than the grave. 

It was not so ere he we loved 

And vainly strove with heaven to save. 
Heard the low call of death, and moved 

With holy calmness to the grave. 
Just at that brightest hour of youth. 

When life spread out before us lay. 
And charmed us with its tones of truth, 

And colors radiant as the day. 

When morning's tears of joy were shed, 

Or nature's evening incense rose. 
We thought upon the grave with dread. 

And shuddered at its dark repose. 
But all is altered now; of death 

The morning echoes sweetly speak. 
And like ray loved one's dying breath. 

The evening breezes fan my cheek. 

For rays of heaven, serenely bright. 

Have gilt the caverns of the tomb; 
And I can ponder viith delight. 

On all its gathering thoughts of gloom. 
Then, raother, let us haste away 

To that blessed land to Israel given, 
Wliere faith, unsaddened by decay, 

Dwells nearest to its native heaven. 

■We'll stand within the temple's bound. 

In courts by kings and prophets trod; 
We'll bless, with tears, the sacred ground. 

And there be earnest with our God, 
'^\niere peace and praise forever reign, 

And glorious anthems duly flow. 
Till seraphs learn to catch the strain 

Of heaven's devotions, here below. 

But where thou goest, I will go; 

Wilth tliine my earthly lot is cast; 
In pain and pleasure, joy and woe. 

Will I attend thee to the last. 
That hour shall find me by thy side; 

And where thy grave is. raine shall be: 
Death can but for a time divide 

My firm and faithful heart from thee. 



THE SLIGHTED LOVER. 

I loved a woman, and too fondly thought 
The vows she made were constant and 
sincere, 

But now, alas! in agony am taught 

That she is faithless — I no longer dear! 

WHiy was I frenzied when her bright black 
eye. 
With ray pernicious, flashed upon my 
gaze? 
Why did I burn with feverish ecstasy. 
Stung with her scorn, and ravished with 
her praise? 

Would that her loveliness of form and mind 
Had only kindled friendship's calmer glow! 

Then had I been more tranquil and resigned. 
And her neglect had never touched me so. 



88 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



But with sujch peerless charms before his 
sight, 
Who would not own resistless Love's con- 
trol. 
Feel the deep thrilling- of intense delight. 
And lose at once the balance of his soul? 

Such was my fate — one sole enchanting hope, 

One darling object from all else I chose: 

That hope is gone — its blighted blossoms 

droop; 

And where shall hopeless \jassion find 

repose? 

Alfked Tbnnyso. 



TO MY HUSBAND. 

Twelve years of sunshine and of storms 

Since first our lives were Joined in one; 
But had the sky no threatening clouds, 

Wb would forget to prize the sun. 

With life one joyous summer-day. 
And, gliding down life's quaet stream. 
We would not note our rapid flight 

Were there no landmarks by the way. 

I would not call to memory now 

The sorrows of those vanished years 
(Our steps led through affliction's path, 

Bordered by bitter falling tears) ; 
But I would have you think today 

Of all that made life seem most dear, 
of hopes that tint with pleasing ray 

The prospects of the coming year. 

It seems that those who love are doomed 

Aflliction's bitterest cup to drain. 
As if they with their mutual strength 

Were better formed to bear the pain; 
Or it may be, had fortune smiled. 

Our love with years had colder grown: 
Yours might have followed fancy's paths. 

And I have doubted e'en my own. 

Perhaps that Fate has been more kind 

Than we, dear heart, shall ever know; 
The purest gem may worthless seem 

If scanned by firelight's fitful glow. 
Then at our lot we'll not repine. 

Though cold and dreary seem the way. 
But journey on, heart joined to heart. 

Until we find the perfect day. 

Mrs. Sarah A. Thomas. 



MARRIED FOR LOVE. 

"Yes, Jack Brown was a splendid fellow. 

But married for love, you know. 
I remember the girl very well — 

Sweet little Kitty Duffau. 
Pretty and loving and good. 

And bright as a fairy elf; 
t was very much tempted indeed 

To marry Kitty myself. 

"But her friends were all of them poor. 
And Kitty had not a cent; 



And 1 knew 1 should never be 
With 'love in a cottage' content. 

So .Jack was the lucky wooer. 
Or unlucky — anyway 

You can see mow shabby his coat, 
And liis hair ts turning gray. 

"But I'm told he thinks himself rich 

With Kitty and homely joys; 
A cot far away out of town. 

Full of noisy girls and boys. 
Poor Jack! I'm sorry, and all that, 

But of course he very well knew 
That fellows who marry for love 

Must drink of the liquor they brew." 

And the handsome Augustus smiled, 

His coat was in perfect style, 
And women still spoke of his grace. 

And Jrave him their sweetest smile. 
But he thought that night of Jack Brown, 

And said, "I'm .growing old; 
I think I must really marry 

Some beautiful girl with gold." 

Years passe<l, and the bachelor grew 

Tiresome and stupid and old; 
He had not been able to find 

The beautiful girl with gold. 
Alone with his fancies he dwelt. 

Alone in the crowded town. 
Till one day he suddenly met 

The friend of his youth. Jack Brown. 

"Why, Gus!" "Why, Jack!" What a meeting! 

Jack was so happy and gay; 
The bachelor sighed for content 

As he followed his friend away 
To the cot far out of town. 

Set deep in its orchard-trees, 
Scented with lilies and roses 

Cooled with tlie ocean-breeze. 

"Why, Jack, what a beautiful place! 

What did It cost?" "Oh, it grew. 
There were only three rooms at first. 

Then soon the three were too few. 
So we added a room now and then; 

And oft in the evening hours, 
Kitty, the children, and I 

Planted the trees and flowers. 

"And they grew as the children grew 

(Jack, Harry, and Grace, and Belle)." 
"And where are the youngsters now?" 

"All happy and doing well. 
Jack went to Spain for our house — 

His road is level and clear — 
And Harry's a lawyer In town. 

Making three thousand a, year. 

"And Grace and Belle are well married — 

They married for love, as is best. 
But often our birdies come back 

To visit the dear home nest. 
So my sweet wife Kitty and I 

From labor and care may cease; 
We have enough, and age can bring 

Nothing but love and peace" 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



89 



But over and over asain 

The bachelor thoug^ht that night, 
"Home, and wife, and children! 

Jack Brown was, after all, right. 
Oh! if in the days of my youth 

I had honestly loved and wed! 
For now when I'm old there's no one cares 

Whether I'm living or dead." 



A BRIDAL SONG. 

A song and a blessing for thee, young bride! 
As thou goest forth by thy loved one's side. 
Passing from under the old roof-tree. 
Which long and kindly has sheltered thee. 
Leaving the home of thy childhood's hours: 
Bidding farewell to its birds and flowers. 
And the quiet spot where thy dear cnes rest. 
With the green sod hiding each peaceful 
breast. 

Thou art going forth and tliere resteth now, 
A shadow of grief on thy girlish brow; 
But It soon will pass, for thy path is bright. 
Thy future Is warm with a golden light: 
And, leaning with mingled love and pride. 
On him thou hast chosen to be thy guide. 
Thou lookest forth to the coming years. 
And a rainbow gleams through thy gath- 
ering tears. 

Bless thee, young bride, for tliy trustful 

love; 
Thou art going forth like a mated dove. 
To fold thy wing In a new-found nest. 
Oh, mayest thou ever be glad and blest! 
May the links that bind thee be ever bright, 
And thy heart rejoice in unshadowed light! 
MBS, M. .1. E. Crawfobd. 



IN SCHOOL-DAYS. 

Still sits the schoolhouse by the road, 

A ragged beggar sunning: 
Around it still the sumachs grow. 

And blackberry vines are running. 

Within, the master's desk is seen. 
Deep scarred by raps official; 

The warping floor, the battered seats. 
The Jackknife's carved initial; 

The charcoal frescoes on its wall; 

Its door's worn sill, betraying 
The feet that, creeping slow to school. 

Went storming out to playing. 

Long years ago a winter sun 

Shone over it at setting; 
Lit up Its western window-panes. 

And low eaves' icy fretting. 

It touched the tangled golden curls. 
And brown eyes, full of grieving. 

Of one who still her steps delayed 
When all the school were leaving. 

For near her stood the little boy 
Her childish favor singled. 



His cap pulled low upon a face 

Where pride and sliame were mingled. 

Pushing with restless feet the snow 
To right and left, he lingered, 

As restlessly her tiny liands 

The blue-checked apron fingered. 

He saw her lift her eyes; lie felt 
The soft hands' light caressing. 

And heard the tremble of lier voice. 
As if a fault confessing: 

"I'm sorry that I spelled the word; 

I liate to go above you. 
Because" — -the brown eyes lower fell — 

"Because, you see, I love you!" 

Still memory to a gray-haired man 
That sweet child-face is showing. 

Dear girl! the grasses on her grave 
Have forty years been growing. 

He lives to learn in life's hard school 
How few who pass above him 

Lament their triumph and liis loss. 
Like her — because they love him. 

John Gbeenleap WarrTiKB. 



AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton. among thy green 

braes ; 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song In thy 

praise: 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream; 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her 

dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds 

through the glen, 
Te wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny 

den, 
Tliou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming 

forbear; 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, tl>y neigli boring 
hills. 

Far marked with the courses of clear wind- 
ing rills! 

There daily I wander as noon rises high. 

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my 
eye. 

How pleasant tliy banks and green valleys 
below, 

Wliere wild in the woodlands the prim- 
roses blow! 

There oft as mild evening weeps over the 
lea. 

The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary 
and me. 

Thy cr>-stal stream, Afton, how lovely it 
glides. 

And winds by the cot where my Mary re- 
sides! 



90 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
Ae, gatherings sweet flowers, she stems thy 
clear wave! 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green 

braes; 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my 

lays; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream; 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her 

dream. 

Robert Burns. 



THE MEMORY OF THE HEART. 

If stores of dry and learned lore we gain. 

We Iteep them in tlie memory of the brain; 

Names, tilings, and facts — -whate'er we 
knowledge call 

There is the common ledger for them all; 

And images on this cold surface traced 

Malie slight impression, and are soon ef- 
faced. 

But we've a page, more glowing and more 
bright, 

On which our friendship and our love to 

write, 
That these may never from the soul depart. 
We trust them to the memory of the heart. 
There is no dimming, no effacement tliere; 
Each new pulsation keeps the record clear; 
Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill. 
Nor lose their luster till the heart stands 

still. 

Daxibl Webster. 



THOU RT ALL THE WORLD TO ME. 

Heaven hath its crown of stars, the earth 

Her glory-robe of flowers. 
The sea its gems, the grand old woods 

Their songs and greening showers; 
The birds have homes, where leaves and 
blooms 

In beautj' wreathe above; 
High yearning hearts their rainbow-dream — 

And we, sweet! we have love. 

We walk not with the jeweled great, 

"Where Love's dear name is sold; 
Tet have we wealth we would not give 

For all their world of gold! 
We revel not in corn and wine, 

Yet have we from above 
Manna divine, and we'll not pine, 

While we may live and love. 

Cherubim, with clasping wings. 

Ever about us be. 
And happiest of God's happy things. 

There's love for you and me! 
Thy lips, that kiss to death, have turned 

Life's water into wine; 
The sweet life melting, through thy looks, 

Hath made my life divine. 



All love's dear promise hath been kept. 

Since thou to me wert given; 
A ladder for my soul to climb. 

And summer high in heaven. 
I know, dear heart! that in our lot 

May min.gle tears and sorrow; 
But love's rich rainbow's built from tears 

Today, with smiles tomorrow. 

The sunshine from our sky may die, 

The greenness from life's tree. 
But ever, mid the warring storm, 

Thy nest shall sheltered be. 
The world may never know, dear heart! 

What I have found in thee; 
But, though naught to the world, dear heart! 

Tliou'rt all the world to me. 

Gerald Massst. 



OH, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR. 

Oh, lay thy hand in mine, dear! 

We're growing old. 
But Time hath brouglit no sign, dear. 

That hearts grow cold. 
'Tis long, long since our new love 

Made life divine; 
But age enricheth true love. 

Like noble wine. 

And lay thy cheek to mine, dear. 

And take thy rest; 
Mine arms around thee twine, dear, 

And make thy nest. 
A many cares are pressing 

On this dear head. 
But Sorrow's hands in blessing 

Are surely laid. 

Oh, lean thy life on mine, dear! 

'Twill shelter thee. 
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear. 

On my young tree; 
And so, till boughs are leafless, 

And song-birds flown. 
We'll twine, then lay us, griefless. 

Together down. 

Gerald Massbi. 



HOW FRIENDS ARE WON. 

She sighed for beauty, for wealth and fame. 
For pleasures slie had not known; 

"If only these charmed tilings were mine. 
Content would be my own." 

She sighed for a lover brave and kind. 
For friends that were good and true; 

She did not know that these are won 
By things tliat we say and do. 

Beauty and fame never dwelt with her. 
And wealth never came her way. 

But happiness came an abiding guest 
Wttien this lesson she learned one day: 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



91 



That It isn't the house you live in. 
And it isn't the clothes you wear. 

That makes your friends admire you, 
Or makes a lover care. 

Nor Is it a form divinely wrought. 

Or cheek of a lovely hue. 
Nor locks the Lorelei might wish. 

Or eyes of corn-flower hlue. 

But it is the words we speak each day. 
And the acts of kindness done, 

That makes our old friends love us. 
And the way that new are won. 

Mollis S. Roncobn. 



r LOVE YOU. 

[From husband to wife after eight years of mar- 
rieil life.] 

When morning's beams first wake the pulses 

of a new-born day, 
And when, like these, new fancies spring 

and hopes are born anew, 
I rise and know and feel within myself as 

something new, 
Tet as a sweet old song, sung long ago, — • 
I love you. 

I love you! 
As that song thrills my heart 
And echoes down the chambers of my soul. 
Fond memory wakes, and with sweetest 

voice she sings 
The old, old song of other days when first 

I loved you. 

Ah, then 'twas that love, born of thy pure, 

true soul and tender being. 
First to my heart played sweetest, wildest 

melody. 
•Twas then I learned to know and feel and 

say — 
■With truest heart and being all attuned 

to love's sweet song — 
I love you. 

I loved you then — 

But as days drew on their length of toil 
and pain and happiness, 

Tying us closer with the strong sure cord 
of sympathy, 

Love's strain more equal, even grew, and, 
with a low sweet voice. 

That thrilled our hearts and lives to deep- 
est depths, each cried to each, — 
I love you! 

I have loved you! 
Days, weeks, months, and years with all 

they may be or can bring to us — 
Toil, sorrow, pain, joy, peace! religion, 

hope of future life — ■ 
Are cords that bind me close to God and 

And when I say, I live, either in this life 

or the life to come. 
•Tis but a new cord played upon loves 

harp to say, — 

Darltngr, I love you. 



And I shall love you always! 
What though friends shall come bringinKr 

the joy of friendship and their love, 
■What though cares shall cry in voice dis- 
cordant in our ears. 
Yet will our hearts, like harps that by the 

master hand of love 
Are tuned to sweetest harmony, respond. 
Unmindful of all jarring discord — 
So shall they sing in unison together, — 
I love you. 

I shall love you! 
WTien the years of time are past and in 

that beautous home beyond the sky 
The father calls his wandering children to 

the world of light to be at home, — 
We'll meet again; and through unending 

years of joy unfading. 
With the God who made these hearts and 

tuned them to respond to love's sweet 

Btory, 
Forever and forever, all eternity, well 

sing 
The song our hearts have sung so long on 

earth — 

I love you. 

J. W. Phbu>b. 



MAUD MULLER. 

Maud MuUer, on a summer's day. 
Raked the meadow, sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town 
White from its hill-slope looking down. 

The sweet seng died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast— 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own. 
For something better than she had known 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane. 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. ■ 

He drew his bridle in the shade 
Of the apple-trees to greet the maid. 

And ask a draught from the spring that 

flowed 
Through the meadow across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled 

up. 
And filled for him her small tin cup. 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter 

draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 



9S 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



He spoke oi the grass and flowers and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees; 

Then tallied of the haying, and wondered 

whether 
The oloud in the west would bring foul 

weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown 
And her graceful ankles bare and brown, 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Ijooked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me! 
That I the Judge's bride might be! 

"He would dress me up in silk so fine. 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

"ULy father .should wear a broadcloth coat; 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay. 
And the baby should have a new toy each 
day. 

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the 

poof. 
And all .should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the 

hill. 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

"A form more fair, a face more sweet. 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

"And her modest ans^'er and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

"Would she were mine, and I today, 
Like her, a harvester of ha^■: 

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs. 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

•But low of cattle and song of birds, 
.^nd health, and quiet, and loving words." 

Cut he thought of his sisters proud and 

cold. 
And his mother vain of lier rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
Wlien he hummed in court an old love-tune; 

And the young girl mused beside the well. 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
■R'ho lived for fashion as he for power. 



Yet oft in his marble hearth's bright glow. 
He watched a picture come and go; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red. 
He longed for the wayside-well instead. 

And closed liis eyes on his garnished rooms 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms; 

And tlie proud man sighed, with a secret 

pain: 
"All, that [ were free again! 

"Free as when I rode that day 

Where tlie barefoot maiden raked lier hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round lier door. 

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, — 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with timid grace. 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls. 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned. 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug. 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw. 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life 

again. 
Saying only, "It might have been!" 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge! 

God pity them both! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
The saddest are these: "It might ha->fi 
been!" 

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 

Roll the stone from its grave away! 

John Gbeenleap Whittibb. 



NATURE POEMS 



NATURE POEMS. 



95 



NATURE POEMS 



WOODMAN. SPARE THAT TREE. 

Woodman, spare that tree! 

Touch not a single bough! 
In youth it sheltered me, 

And I'll protect it now. 
'Twas my forefather's hand 

That placed it near his cot: 
There, woodman, let it stand; 

Thy ax shall harm it not! 

That old familiar tree, 

Whose glory and renown 
Are spread o'er land and sea — 

And wouldst thou hew it down? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke! 

Cut not its earth-bound ties! 
Oh! spare that aged oak. 

Now towering to the skies. 

When but an idle boy 

I sought its grateful shade; 
In all their gushing joy, 

Here too. my sisters played. 
My mother kissed me here, 

My father pressed my hand: 
Forgive this foolish tear. 

But let that old oak stand! 

My heart-strings round thee cling. 

Close as thy bark, old friend! 
Here shall the wild bird sing. 

And still thy branches bend. 
Old tree, the storm still brave! 

And, woodman, leave the spot! 
While I've a hand to save, 

Thy ax shall harm it not. 

Geobob p. Morbis. 



SNOW-BOUND. 

[A selection from one of Whittier's best-known 
poems.] 

The sun that brief December day 
Rose cheerless over hills of gray. 
And, darkly circled gave at noon 
A sadder light than waning moon. 
Slow tracing down the thickening sky 
Its rnute and ominous prophecy, 
A portent seeming less than threat. 
It sank from sight before it set. 

A chill no coat, however stout, 

Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, 

A liard, dull bitterness of cold. 

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race 

Of life-blood in the sharpened face. 

The coming of the snow-storm told. 

The wind blew east; we heard the roar 

Of Ocean on his wintry shore, 

And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 

Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores — 
Brought in the wood from out-of-doors, 



Littered the stalls, and from the mows 
Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows: 
Heard the horse whinnying for his corns 
And, sharply clashing horn on horn. 
Impatient down the stanchion rows 
The cattle shake their walnut bows; 
Willie, peering from his early perch 
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch. 
The cock his crested helmet bent 
And down his querulous challenge sent. 

Unwarmed by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary witli the swarm 

And wliirl-dance of the blinding storm, 

As zigzag, wavering to and fro. 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow; 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the window-frame. 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 

So all night long the storm roared on: 

The morning broke witliout a sun; 

In tiny spherule traced with lines 

Of Nature's geometric signs, 

In starry flake, and pellicle. 

All day the hoary meteor fell; 

And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 

The blue walls of the firmament. 

No cloud above, no earth below — • 

A universe of sky and snow! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and 

towers 
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood. 
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; 
A smooth white mound the brush-pile 

showed, 
A fenceless drift what once was road; 
The bridle-post an old man sat 
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 
The well-curb had a Chinese roof; 
And even the long sweep, high aloof, 
In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 
Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 

All day the gusty north-wind bore 
The loosening drift its breath before; 
Low circling round its southern zone. 
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. 
No church-bell lent its Christian tone 
To the savage air, no social smoke 
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak; 
A solitude made more intense 
By dreary-voiced elements — 
The shrieking of the mindless wind. 
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind. 
And on the glass the unmeaning beat 
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. 
Beyond the circle of our hearth 
No welcome sound of toil or mirth 
Unbound the spell and testified 



96 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Of Iniman life and thought outside. 
W<e minded that the sharpest ear 
The buried brooklet could not hear, 
Tlie music of whose liquid lip 
Had been to us companionship. 
And, in our lonely life, had ijrown 
To have an almost human tone. 

As night drew on, and, from the crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west. 
The sun, a snow-blown traveler, sank 
From siffht beneath the smothering bank. 
We piled, with care, our nightly stark 
Of wood ag:alnst the chimney-back — 
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick. 
And on its top the stout back-stir k; 
The knotty forestick laid apart. 
And filled between with curious art 
The ragged brush; then, hovering near. 
We watched the first red blaze appear. 
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam. 
Until the old, rude-furnished room 
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; 
While radiant with a mimic flame 
Outside the sparkling drift became. 
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 
The crane and pendent trammels showed. 
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; 
While childish fancy, prompt to tell 
The meaning of the miracle. 
Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tiee, 
When fire outdoors burns merrily, 
There the witches are making tea." 

The moon above the eastern wood 
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood 
Transfigured in the silver Hood, 
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen. 
Dead white, save where some sliarp ravine 
Took shadow, or the somber green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness at their back. 
For sucli a world and such a night 
Most fitting that unwarming light, 
Which only seemed where'er it fell 
To make the coldness visible. 

Shut in from all the world without, 
We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 
Content to let the north wind roar 
In baffled rage at pane and door. 
While the red logs before us beat 
The frost-line back with tropic heat; 
And ever, when a, louder blast 
Shook beam and rafter as it passed. 
The merrier up its roaring draught 
The great throat of the chimney laughed; 
The house-dog on his paws outspread 
Laid to the fire his drowsy head. 
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; 
And, for the winter fireside meet, 
Between the andirons' straddling feet, 
The mug of cider simmered slow, 
The apples sputtered In a row, 
And, close at hand, the basket stood 
With nuts from brown October's wood. 



Wliat matter how the night behaved? 
What matter how the north-wind raved'.' 
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
Could quench our hearth-flre's ruddy glow. 

John Gbeenlbap Whittieb. 



EVENTIDE. 

Slowly the sun sinks in the west; 
The song-bird, hovering o'er her nest. 
Softly twitters her evening song; 
Wliile from the fields, where all day long 
The harvesters with sickles keen 
Have cut the waving, golden sheen 
Of ripened grain, and while the dew 
Falls on each bud and floweret new. 
The whippoorwill from thicket green 
Pipes his shrill whistle all unseen; 
While moonlit rays of silvery light 
Pierce through the gloom of darkening 

night. 
And twinkling stars shine softly through 
The azure depths of heavenly blue; 
And with the sleeping world abide 
The watchful sprites of eventide. 

ME3. G. W. Tathu. 



SUNSET. 

The brilliant orb of day hangs in the west; 
The gold-fringed clouds in splendor clus- 
ter round, 
And touch with amber glow the earth's 

dark ground. 
The beaten paths and crumbling clods 

abound 
With colors rare, and everywhere is found 
Sol's benediction as he sinks to rest. 

All nature sovereign beauty now assumes; 
As nuggets fair the gold-tinged pebble 

fills 
The splashing brooklets and the shining 

rills; 
And how the grandeur of tiie sun now 

thrills. 
As large and red it dips behind the hills. 
And fills the earth with mellow twilight 

gloomsl 

Across the rosy west dim shadows steal. 
First timidly, forerunners of the night, 
They seem to struggle with the parting 

light; 
Then stretching forth in unexpected might 
They merge from out their darksome 
covert, night. 
Their sullen shroud more boldly to reveal 

Thus oft we watch night draw its sable pall 
Across the glory of the western skies; 
And night enthroned we watch as day- 
light dies. 
The tops of ghostly pinefe, now towering 

high, 
Are swept to motion by the winds, and 
sigh 
As on its dismal throne night reigns o'er 
all. 



NATURE POEMS. 



97 



We think of that last eve, when ebbing lil'e 
(As fading twilight yields its charms to 

night. 
Extinguishing earth's -grandeur from our 

sight) 
Will close these heavy lids. But ah! the 

flight 
On cherub wings through darkness unto 
light 
Is brief; then rest we free from fear and 
strife. 

O. I.. Ljnm. 



OUT IN THE FIELDS WITH GOD. 

The little cares that fretted me, 

I lost them yesterday, 
Among the fields, above the sea. 

Among the winds at play; 
Among the lowing of the herds. 

The rustling of the trees; 
Among the singing of the birds, 

The humming of tne bees. 

The foolish fears of what may happen, 
I cast them all away 

Among the clover-scented grass, 
Among the new-mown hay; 

Among the rustling of the corn. 
Where drowsy poppies nod, 

AVhere ill thoughts die and good are born- 
Out in the fields with God. 

Elizabeth Babrett Bhownino. 



AMONG WISCONSIN PINES. 

Closely bending to each other 
Sway thn slender trees of pine, 
WTiile their branches, finger-ending. 
Clasp each other, keeping time. 
As in olden minuet, 
On a gracefuJ, stately step. 
To the rhythm of the music 
Breathed in whispers 

By the pines. 

Oh, the fragrance of the pines! 

How It lingers in our minds. 

As a censer, swinging near, 

Leaves the spicy perfume rare, 

Or as from some oaken chest 

Odors come from folds long pressed; 

WTiile the aged forest bards 

Sweetly mimic harpsichords. 

In the rambling, dulcet music 

Of the pines. 

In the bosom of the forest. 

In some hushed and dainty nook 

Where the mosses strewn with dead leaves 

Weave a cushion under foot, 

There the red deer meet in secret 

And the oriole and the linnet. 

Working in the forest twilight. 

Swing their cradles in the vines. 

And their voices, clear and joyous, 

Join the chorus 

Of the pines. 



Here in winter blows the North Wind 
From the tangled frozen marshes. 
And in chambers, long and winding. 
Sifts the deep and drifting snows. 
Then the voices of the forest. 
In a shrill and mighty chorus. 
Wail like lost souls, tempest tossed. 
Marching in a mighty host. 
And in passing, keeping time 
To the soughing and the sighing 

Of the pines. 

Let me then among the pines 
Dream and work and humbly live. 
Drawing sips of honeyed nectar 
From the ample breast of Nature; 
And from banks, moss-grown and low. 
When life's shadows longer grow. 
See the beck'ning pine-trees mirrored 
In some placid silvery river 
Wiiile their shades from deep confines 
Wave a welcome 

To the pines. 
NELLia Olbow. 



GODS SENTINELS. 

God loves the mountains. Since earth's 
primal days 
Wlhen puny man awoke to light and life, 
His steps have haunted all their mystic 
ways. 
Above, remote from petty human strife. 
Man's monuments endure but for a day. 
But these eternal in their strength alway. 

How little all things human-builded seem! 
The marbled pomp of proud imperial 
Rome; 
The tower of Babel, but a madman's dream; 
The boast of Grecian art, St. Peter's 
dome: 
The pigmy pyramids, the Pharaoh's pride — 
How like to motes our mighty peaks be- 
side! 

We proudly choose some fondly cherished 

spot. 

And rear our shafts for future eyes to 

see, 

A little time, and lo! our works are not; 

They perish as the leaves that fall, but ye 

Have stood in strength since immortal time, 

And still shall stand forever more sublime. 

Beloved by Nature fond the sun's first 
rays 
Bask on each crown in ecstacy of bliss 
With soft caress, and his last lingering 
blaza 
The towering purple summits softly kiss. 
Ere yet he sinks within the golden west 
And leaves the world to solitude and rest 

The mountains have been Freedom's safe 

retreat 
From Tyranny, since Time's first early 

dawn: 
Here Liberty has fled with bleeding feet 



98 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Wlien in the plain all liglit and hope 

had flown: 
And, standing proudly on the tow'ring 

height, 
Has bid defiance to the tyrant's might. 

O mighty peaks, so all supremely grandl 
Springing to meet the azure vault above, 

Warding from storm the slumb'ring peace- 
ful land. 

Bending o'er all with tender, ceaseless love: 

Watch still, mute sentries, set by Him on 
high 

To guard us during- life and point us to the 
sky! 



SUNSET. 

High up in heaven the foamy flakes 

Of sunset-clouds are resting: 
The rose-tint o'er them softly breaks 

Their ragged edges cresting: 
Here lies a strip of darkling blue. 

Fringed with a soft pale yellow; 
Close by a crimson shade is seen 

Blending with each bright billow. 
But see! a purple light now glows. 

Fading but lovely still, 
Replaced by gold and silver rays 

That flash from hill to hill. 

Low down beneath an orange shade 

Of clouds more still and dark, 
The sun is slowly sinking now — 

Of heaven's sea the bark; 
For like an ocean broad, metliinks 

The tinted clouds are spread; 
And through their billows bright, the sun 

Each day his course hath sped. 

But he has gone — and lo! the clouds 

That flitted o'er his way, 
The blue, the gold, the orange shade. 

Have changed to sober gray. 
'Tis thus with life — «ome brilliant sun 

Our rough path crosses o'er, 
But soon is gone: the ray is lent. 
Then, quivering, gleams no more. 
Not in ourselves are all the shades 

That make our sky so bright: 
But, like the clouds at sunset hour, 

We shine with borrowed light. 

SAEiH B. Sawter. 



THE FOREST. 

Of all the beautiful pictures 
That hang on Memory's wall. 

The one of the dim. old forest 
Seeraeth the best of all. 

Not for its gnarled oaks olden. 

Dark with the mistletoe; 
Not for the violets golden 

That sprinkle the vale below; 

Not for the milk-white lilies 

That lean from the fragrant hedge. 



Sporting all day with the sunbeams. 
And stealing their golden edge. 

I once had a little brother 

With eyes tliat were dark and deep; 
In the lap of that dim, old forest 

He iieth in peace, asleep. 

Light as the down on the thistle. 

Free as the winds that blow, 
W"© roved there the beautiful summers- 

The summers of long ago. 

But his feet on the hills grew weary. 
And on one of the autumn eves 

I niade for my little brother 
A bed of the yellow leaves. 

Sweetly his small arms enfolded 

My neck in a silent embrace, 
While the sleep of immortal beauty 

Silently covered his face- 
Therefore, of all the pictures 

That hang on Memory's wall 
The one of the dim, old forest, 

Seemeth tlie best of all. 

Alich Cabt. 



THE BEAUTIFUL SNOW. 

Silent and still, sweeping down through 

the air, 
Fairy-like painting wild scenes rich and 

rare. 
Noiseless its passage, though swift is its 

flight; 
Naught can we hear of its footfall, so light 
Strewing its numberless glittering gems 
Over the forest, fields, mountains, and glens. 
Setting tlie pulses of Nature aglow, 
Falls the soft, beautiful, beautiful snow. 

From dizzy heights with a fearless descent, 
Hither, with favors, thy footsteps are bent. 
Cover, in kindness, with crystals of light 
Terra's brown features, and veil them from 

sight; 
Gladden her soul with your sheltering care. 
Wreathe her duJl brow with the crown 

which you bear; 
Far over landscape and wild wood bestow 
Benefits welcome, O beautiful snow. 

Dreamily floating far down from above. 

With shining pinions, all flashing with love; 

Delicate, frail as a child sweet and fair. 

Stronger in spirit than beasts in their lair; 

Constant, unfailing the charms which you 
lend: 

Changeless and sure is the cheer which 
you send — • 

Drop from your sphere to this world far be- 
low. 

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful snow-. 

From yonder cloud-land, thy native glad 

skies, 
Tou bring us gifts that we cherish and 

prize; 



XATURE POEMS. 



99 



Holdins a chalice of matfjilf design. 
Exquisite form and a bauuj SDMime, 
Oat of whose deptlis. in immraimrrtl clear 

streama. 
Flows a sweet nectar wbicfa aiarkles and 

grleams, 
TbraVng tbe heart with a pleasnre untold 
Boimdinc wltii toys wtiieb tber ever nnfold. 

Qnletly slipping from beavoi's blue iozne. 
Calmly to rest in a lowlier home: 
Beaming kind mcsntneer. smiling and 

bri^t. 
Blessings yaa hear as oo wings pore and 

wiate. 
Old Vother Earth, with poise dormant and 

stUI. 
Wakes from ber sadness with resoloCe will. 
Vibrates with hope as roa gently o>'er- 

spread. 
Glory and si^endor forms seas and dead. 

Here may thy presence; so clean, pore; and 

true; 
Teach as to lire for the good we can do: 
Modest, with parpoee firm, strong as tby ' 



Scattering hopes orer hearts that are lone. 
Carrying tidings of faith, lore, and peace. 
In whose fruition aU sorrow win cease — 
Vet oar lite be. as we hearei's Ugfat show. 
Lovely and fair, like the beaotifol snow. 

'Wbaterer station or rank we may bold. 

I>et OS endeavor, with hearts brave and bold. 

Help the downtrodden and shield from de- 
spair 

Bonis who lack courage life's borden to 
bear; 

Tell them of Jesos, tliat others may know 

Whom to believe — hell make whiter ttian 



Thus may onr service^ wherever we go. 
.Beantifal be; like tlie beantifnl snow. 

Ays* K. THom'- 



TO A STREAMLET. 

Flow on, sweet streamlet, fl-:— , 

Over the rocks where the mosses grow. 

Dashing thy crest into silver snow. 

As the white swan floats on the foam below 

^^ithin the sljade of the willow row. 

And the fishes creep 'neath the bank so low — 

Flow on, O streamlet, flow. 

Glide on, clear streamlet, glide, 

Ey the ioggr fen, who-e the soblins hide. 

And the fairy forma on the night-winds 

ride: 
By the Cowers that bloom on the steep 

hillside, 
\niile the white swan floats on thy silva- 

Ode — 
Glide on. O streamlet, gUde. 

Sweep on, pora streamlet, sweep. 
Through the flowery dale, where the shad- 
ows creep: 



By the stem old pines on t.^e cUiside steep: 
Through the greening glen, where the roses 

peep 
At thy tranqnfl crest while they nigMly 

keep 
Their vigils true with the ones who weep — 
Swe^ on. O streamlet, swe^i. 

Sing on. O streamlet, sine. 
While the fleeing years naeeasfas brine 
The Joys ao sweet, and death's cold sting-; 
Sing ye to the bird of the tireleaB wtng. 
Sing ye while tiie wedding-bella afcall rise 
Clear and sweet on the mom of spring — 
Sing on. O streamlet, nng. 

Sigh on, sad streamlet, sigb. 
For my sister fair with her laoghing ere. 
For the tall old ««ik that grew so higii. 
For the birds tiiat sang 'neath the a utumn 

sky. 
For the hawk so harsh, and the wrai so 

shy— 
Tlioa art severed now from every tie; 
Sigh on, O streamlet, sigii. 

H. K. em. 



MIDNIGHT. 

Tis midnight o'er t£^e dim mere's lonely 
boaom. 
Dark, dndcy, windy midnight; swift are 
driven 
I The swelling vapors onward; every b to e u s m 
Bathes its bright petals in ti>e tears of 
heaven. 
Imperfect; half-seen objects meet the sight. 
The other half oar fancy most portray; 
A wan, dnH. lengfliened sheet of swimming 
light 
Ues the broad lake; the moon conceals 
her ray. 
Sketched faintly by a pale and tnrid gleam 
Shot tfarongb the g limii n ' i lug doads; tlie 
lovely irianet 
Is Aronded in obsenrity; the scream 
Of owl is sflcnrgd; and the rocks of gran- 
ite 
Rise tall and drearily, while damp and dank 
Hang tbe thick wQIows on the reedy bank; 
Beneath, the gurgling eddies tiowlj creep. 
Blackened by foliage: an^ the glutting 
wave. 
That saps eternally the cold gray steep. 

Sounds heavily within the llow cave. 
An earth is r — 'less: from his glossy wing 
The heatb-fowl lifts his head at into-- 

vals; 

Wet, driving, rainy, come the bursting 

squalls: 

ATI na t uiB wears ti^- dun dead covering: 

Tonpest is gathered, and the br wwiing storm 

Spreads its black mantle o'a- the n>oan- 

tains" form; 
And, mingled with the rising roar, is swe'I- 

ing. 
From the far banter's ixKrtli. the blood- 
hound's yelling: 
Tbe wat^-falls in various «-»«v»«i«'ii '*«»»»iif 



100 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Or in one loud unbroken sheet descending, 
Salute each other through Hie night's dark 

womb; 
The moaning: pine-trees to the wild blast 

bendlnfe', 
Are pictured faintly through the cheq- 

ured gloom; 
The forests, half-way up the mountain 

climbing. 
Resound with crash of falling brandies; 

quiver 
Their aged mossy trunks; the startled doe 
Leaps from her leafy lair; the swelling 

river 
Winds his broad stream majestic, deep, 

and slow 

Alfrkii Tknnyson. 



SUNSET AND TWILIGHT. 

The sun hath gone down in the crimsoned 

west. 
The dove hath llown to her lonely nest. 
And tlie golden light of departing day 
Tinges the mountains far away, 
Till their green sides glow with a brilliant 

flush. 
Like a calm face lighting with love's warm 

blush. 

The sky is bright as the light that gleams 
From the sparkling waves of sunlit streams. 
And the rosy clouds are soft and light 
As the dreams which visit our hearts by 

night. 
The soft west wind as it murmurs by 
With its fragrant breatli and dreamy sigh, 
Makes music sweet as the pleasant tones 
Which fall from the lips of loving ones — 
Tones which leave in the inmost heart 
Gentle echoes which never depart. 

The eye which rests on a scene so bright 
Never can tire of the gorgeous sight: 
The soul is filled with a rapture pure. 
That mortal senses can scarce endure; 
The pulses throb, and the full heart longs 
To frame its bliss into thrilling sohk.s. 
The glorious light to its depth to win. 
And drink the spirit of beauty in; 
Embody each delicate tint and glow. 
And breathe it in music soft and low; 
But its powers are bound in too bright a 

chain — 
Lips can not utter that spirit-strain. 

The bright hues fade, and a purple mist 
Creeps o'er the hills which the sunbeams 

kissed; 
The thin clouds melt from their mellow hue. 
And lose themselves in the deep, dark blue; 
While shadows steal o'er the quiet scene. 
Like fairy forms from the woodland green. 
The day-blooms softly are folding up 
The glowing leaves of each tiny cup. 
Quietly closing each drowsy eye, 
Till light returns to the eastern sky; 
While dew-drops gather like gems of light. 
Id hearts of blossoms which scent the night. 



The stars come out in the arch above. 
Pure lamps lit up by the har " of love; 
And earthward spreading their shinins 

wings. 
As if to vie with those radiant things; 
The fireflies glitter and gleam and glance. 
And seem to move in a mystic dance; 
The sound of streams and the scent of 

flowers 
Seem sweeter now than at other hours. 
And the soul grows calm in the twilight aii% 
And bows itself in unspoken prayer. 

Mrs. M. J. B. CBAwron^i. 



THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. 

The thoughts are strange that crowd into 

my brain. 
While I lools upward to tliee. It wculdseem 
As if God poured thee from his "hollow 

hand," 
And hung his bow upon thine awful front. 
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed 

to him 
Wlio dwelt in Patmos for his Savior's sake. 
"The sound of many waters," and had bade 
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back. 
And notch liis centuries in the eternal rocks. 

Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we. 
That hear the question of that voice sub- 
lime? 
Oh, what are all the notes that ever rung 
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thunder- 
ing side! 
Tea, what is all the riot man can make 
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar! 
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him 
Who drowned a world, and heaped the 

waters far 
Above its loftiest mountains? A light wave, 
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's 
might. 

John G. O. Brainabd. 



WIND OF THE WEST. 

Wandering wind of tlie west. 
Come in at my window and be my guest; 
You must be tired, come in and rest. 
Tell me a story of what you have seen 
Willie flying the earth and sky between 
O'er many a changeful western scene. 

As down the mountainside I came, 
U'Tien all the eastern sky aflame 
With dawning fires was, I saw 
The night 'her gloomy curtains draw. 
And hide her stars before the sun 
His glowing circuit had begun. 
I played a while in an eagle's nest; 
I plucked a feather from her breast 
And took it with me down below 
And dropped it in the river's flow. 

I darted through a waterfall 

And dashed its spray against the wall; 

I tore a rainbow into shreds; 



NATURE POEMS. 



101 



And from a spider's silken threads 
I made a hammock which I hung 
The fragile mountain flowers among. 

Across the plains where lonely stand 
The brown sod houses in the sand 
I idly soared, and through their doors 
I came and played upon their floors. 
1 pla.ved on graves where slanting stood 
Plain crosses made of rough pine wood: 
I danced on heaps of whitened bones, 
On fleshless, naked skeletons. 

I wandered through deserted fields, 
\V*here barren soil but scarcely yields 
The wandering thistle and ugly weeds 
That grow from careless, vagrant seeds. 

I played with ghosts of long ago 
Of Indian and of buffalo; 
I heard the warrior's mournful songs, 
I heard the tramp of shaggy throngs 
Across the level dusk-bathed plain; 
Then all grew calm and still again. 
And now I nestle in your breast; 
The day is done. I'll stop and rest. 

William Reed Duxroy. 



NIGHT. 

Low hangs the heavy moon, and low 
The drowsy locust droops with sleep; 
Across the quiet fields below, 
And where the languid lilies blow 
On sluggish waters, still and deeii. 
The balmy zephyrs, to and fro, 
In slumbrous silence creep. 

The stars seem pausing in the sky 
Around their listless planet-queen; 
The trees have hushed their luUabj"; 
And sylvan songsters, cradled high. 
Dream lightly in their chambers green; 
All things are resting; only I. 
Sink not in sleep serene. 



THE SNOW-STORM. 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the 

fields. 
Seems nowhere to alight. The whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the 

heaven. 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's 

end. 
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's 

feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the house- 
mates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north-wind's masonry! 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected 

roof 
Round every windward stake or tree or door; 



.Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fanciful, so savage; naught cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly, 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; 
A swan-like form invest * the hidden thorn; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate 
A tapering turret overtops the work. 
-Vnd when his hours are numbered, and the 

world 
Is all his own, retiring as he were not. 
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished 

Art 
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone. 
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work. 
The frolic architecture of the snow, 

Ralph Waldo RmebsoN. 



MIDNIGHT. 

■Tis night mid-glory. Earth, so calm, so 
still. 
On couch of space is wrapped in slum- 
ber's spell; 
How soft and pure her bosom's rounded 
swell 
'Neath fleecy robes and placid radiance 
shed 
From silver orb, like watcher's lamp, o'er- 
head! 
While starry legions dimly throng and fill 
Her airy chamber, whence all sound is fled 
Save breath of rising prayer, or whir of 
wings 
As angels viewless pass, or heavenward 
springs 
The guardian who hath wrought the Fa- 
ther's will. 
Midnight and moonlight, silence, stars, and 
God— 
Sublimest height Diurnal Time hath trod. 
Laura S. B. McCartht. 



HYMN OF THE NIGHT. 

I heard the trailing garments of the Night 
Sweep through her marble halls; 

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls. 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might. 

Stoop o'er me from above; 
The calm, majestic presence of the Night. 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight. 

The manifold, soft chimes. 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows 
there — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear 
^liat man has borne before! 



102 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 
And they complain no more. 

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this 
prayer! 
Descend with broad-winged night, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the 
most fair, 
The best-beloved Night! 

HBNRT WAD3W0RTH LoNOFELLOW. 



STORM AT NIGHT ON LAKE LEMAN. 

Thy sky is changed — and such a change! 
O night. 
And storm, and darkness, ye are won- 
drous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags 
among 
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one 
lone cloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a 
tongue. 
And Jura answers, through her misty 

shroud. 
Back to the Joyous Alps, who call to her 
aloud! 

And this is in the night — most glorious 
night! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me 
be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 
And now again 'tis black — and now, the 
glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its moun- 
tain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earth- 
quake's birth. 

LoHD Byron. 



BEAUTIFUL SUNSET. 

I gaze at the beautiful sunset. 
Portrayed by an Artist Divine, 

In colors of roseate splendor. 

In which mellow glories do shine. 

Was ever a scene so majestic 

"Wrought daily for mortals below? 

Methinks that the angels of heaven 
Are charmed with its radiant glow. 

Now misty, gray clouds are approaching; 

Will they hinder this marvelous scene? 
Ah, no! they transform to the grandeur 

Of the sunset, so calm and serene. 

The mountains so lofty and somber. 
And hitherto bleak as the snow, 

Now bathed in this far-reaching splendor. 
Become with the sunset aglow. 



Then each with its rare beauty tinted. 
Reflects on the valley forlorn. 

The soft, mellow halo of sunset. 

More fair than the glow of the morn. 

Be each of our lives as the sunset, 
Adorned by the great Artist's hand. 

Reflecting the light in the darkness 
As He in his wisdom has planned. 

Till like the gray clouds and bleak moun- 
tains. 

And the vale when the day has withdrawn, 
Each life may be lighted with beauties — 

As these, and keep passing them on. 

And as we are clothed like the sunset, 
With beauty the world to adorn, 

God grant that life's eve be more brilliani. 
With glory, by far, than its morn. 

Eva M. Wray. 



THE EVENING WIND. 

Spirit that brealhest through my lattice, 
thou 
That coolest the twilight of the sultry 
day. 
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my 
bro w ; 
Thouj hast been out upon the deep at play, 
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 
Roughening their crests, and scattering 
high their spray. 
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the 
sea! 

Nor I alone; a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight; 
And languid forms rise up, and pulses 
bound 
Livlier, at coming of the wind of night; 
And, languishing to hear thy grateful 
sound. 
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the 
sight. 
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, 
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting 
earth ! 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, 
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, 
and rouse 
The wide old wood from his majestic rest. 
Summoning from the innumerable boughs 
The stran,ge, deep harmonies that haunt 
his breast: 
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly 
bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters 

pass, 
And where the o'ershadowing branches 
sweep the grass. 

The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child 
asleep. 



NATURE POEMS. 



103 



And dry the moistened curls that over- 
spread 
His temples, while his breathing grows 
more deep; 
And they who stand about the sick man's 
bed, 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep. 
And softly part his curtains to allow 
Thy visit, g-rateful to his burning brow. 

Go — but the circle of eternal change, 

WTiich is the life of nature, shall restore. 
With sounds and scents from all thy 
mighty range. 
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once 
more; 
Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and 
strange, 
Shall tell the home-sick, mariner of tlie 
shore; 
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 
He hears the rustling leaf and running 
stream. 

William Cullen Bhtant. 



BEAUTIFUL. 

Beautiful sun that giveth us light, 
Beautiful moon that shineth by night. 
Beautiful planets in the heaven so far, 
Beautiful twinkle of each little star. 

Beautiful waters so blue and so clear. 
Beautiful sound of the surges we hear. 
Beautiful brooklet, its ripples so sweet. 
Beautiful flowers that bloom at our feet. 

Beautiful springtime when all is delight; 
Beautiful summer, so warm and so bright; 
Beautiful autumn, with fruits and with 

grain; 
Beautiful winter, with snowflakes again. 

W. A. BlSLBB. 



THE THUNDER-STORM. 

The storm is brooding! — I would see it pass. 
Observe its tenor, and its progress trace. 
How darli and dun the gathering clouds 

appear! 
Their rolling thunders seem to rend the ear; 
But faint at first, they slowly, sternly rise. 
From mutterings low to peals which rock 

the skies, 
As if at first their fury they forbore, 
And nursed their terrors for a closing roar. 
And hark! they rise into a loftier soujid. 
Creation's trembling objects quake around; 
In silent awe the subject-nations liear 
The appalling crash of elemental war. 
The lightning, too, each eye in dimness 

shrouds — ■ 
The fiery progeny of clashing clouds, 
That carries death upon its blazing wing. 
And the keen tortures of the electric sting: 
Not like the harmless flash on summer's eve 
(When no rude blasts their silent slumbers 

leave). 



Which, like a radiant vision to the eye, 
Expands serenely in the placid sky; 
It rushes fleeter tlian the swiftest wind. 
And bids attendant thunders wait behind. 
Quick — forked — livid, througli the air it files, 
A moment blazes — dazzles— rbursts — and 

dies; 
Another, and another yet, and still 
To each replies its own allotted peal. 
But see, at last, its force and fury spent. 
The tempest slackens, and the clouds are 

rent: 
How sweetly opens on the enchanted view 
The deep-blue sky, more fresh and bright 

in hue! 
A finer fragrance breathes in every vale. 
A fuller luxury in every gale: 
My ravished senses catcli the rich perfume. 
And Nature smiles in renovated bloom! 
ALFRED Tennyson. 



FLOWERS. 

Spake full well, in language quaint and 

olden. 

One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 

When he called the flowers, so blue and 

golden. 

Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our his- 
tory. 
As astrologers and seers of eld; 
Tet not wrapped about with awful mystery. 
Like the burning stars, which they be- 
held. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as won- 
drous, 
God hath written in those stars above; 
But not less in the bright flowerets under 
us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation. 
Written over all tliis great world of ours; 

Making evident our own creation. 

In these stars of earth, these golden 
flowers. 

And the poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the selfsame, universal being. 

Which is throbbing In his brain and heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining. 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of da-y. 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lin- 
ing. 
Buds that open only to decay. 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tis- 
sues, 

Flaunting gayly in the golden light; 
Large dftsires, with most uncertain issues; 

Tender wistics. blossoming at night! 

These in flowers and men are more than 
seeming; 
W'orkings are they of the selfsame powers. 



104 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, 
Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

PJverywhere about us are they glowing — 
Some like stars, to tell us spring is born; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears o'er- 
flowing. 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn; 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, 
And in Summer's green-emblazoned tifld, 

But in arms of brave Autumn's wearing. 
In the center of his brazen shield; 

Not alone in green meadows and green val- 
leys, 

On the mountain-top, and by the brink 
Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys. 

Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory. 
Not on graves of bird and beast alone; 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary. 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone; 

In the cottage of the rudest peasant; 

In ancestral homes, whose crunjh.ling 
towers. 
Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 

Tell us of the ancient Games of I'lowers 

In all places, then, and in all seasons, 
Flowers expand their light and soul-like 
wings. 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, 
How akin they are to human things. 

And with childlike, credulous affection 
We behold their tender buds expand; 

Emblems of our own great resurrection, 
Kmblems of the bright and better land. 
HSNBt Wadsworth Longfellow. 



HUMMING BIRDS. 

Among the sweet peas. 

Then oft to the clover, 
A drumming of wings as he daintily sups; 

In quest of .sweet store 

This wild, fickle lover. 
From all the enticing, gay silver-lined cups. 

A breath of bluebells. 

A swift followed hummins. 
Again he is balanced on fast-beating wings; 

Each lily-bell thrilled 

With Joy at his coming, 
Hach sighing the pleasure his sweet pres- 
ence brings. 

A far-away buzz, 

A streak of blue luster. 
Away to green meadows to gather fresli 
sips; 

There's no joy for him 

But in some new cluster; 
Enjoyment is lost now for once-tasted lips 



A laugh and a song. 

Some tears, even anger — 
A lifetime is wasted in seeking mere joy; 

With no higher aim, 

And no thought of danger — 
Then drinking the dregs from a cup of alloy. 

NELLia Oleon. 



SUNSET. 

If solitude h?th ever led thy steps 
To the wild ocean's echoing shore. 
And thou hast lingered there 
Until the sun's broad orb 
.Seemed resting on the burnislied wave. 

Thou must have marked the lines 
Of purple gold that motionless 

Hung o'er the sinking sphere: 
Thou must have marked the billowy 

clouds, 
Edged irtith intolerable radiancy, 
Towering like rocks of jet 
Crowned with a diamond wreath. 
And yet there is a moment. 
When the sun's highest point 
Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge, 
When those far clouds of feathery gold, 
Shaded with deepest purple, gleam 
Like islands on a dark-blue sea; 
Then has thy fancy soared above the earth, 
And furled its wearied wing 
Within the Fairy's fane. 
Yet not the golden islands 
Gleaming in yon flood of light. 

Nor the feathery curtains 
Stretching o'er the sun's bright couch. 
Nor the burnished ocean's waves 

Paving that gorgeous dome. 
So fair, so wonderful a sight 
As Mab's ethereal palace could afford. 
Yet likest evening's vault, that fairy hall! 
Heaven, low resting on the ware, it 
spread 
Its floors of flashing light. 
Its vast and azure dome. 
Its fertile golden islands 
Floating on a silver sea; 
Whilst suns their mingling beaming darted 
Through clouds of circumambient darkness. 
And pearly battlements around 
Looked o'er the immense of heaven. 

PEBCt BysSHB SnELLHT, 



THE LIVING TEMPLE. 

Not in the world of liglit alone. 

Where God has built his blazing throne; 

Not yet alone in earth below, 

WTth belted seas that come and go. 

And endless isles of sunlit green. 

Is all thy Maker's glory seen; 

Look in upon thy wondrous frame — 

Eternal wisdom still the same! 

The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves 
Flows murmuring through its hidden caves. 
Whose streams of brightening purple rush. 
Fired with a new and livlier blush. 



NATURE POEMS. 



105 



While all iheir burden of decay 
The ebbing current steals away, 
And red with Nature's flame they start 
From the warm fountains of the heart. 

No rest that throbbing slave may ask, 
Forever quivering o'er his task, 
Wliile far and wide a crimson jet 
Leaps forth to fill the woven net 
Which in unnu.mbered crossing: tides 
The rtood of burning life divides. 
Then, kindling each decaying part, 
Creeps back to find the tlirobbins heart. 

But warmed with that unchanging flame 
Behold the outward moving frame. 
Its living marbles jointed strong 
With glistening band and silvery thong. 
And linked to reason's guiding reins 
By myriad rings in trembling chains, 
Each graven with the threaded zone 
Which claims it as the master's own. 

See how yon beam of seeming white 
Is braided out of seven-hued light. 
Yet in those lucid globes no ray 
By any chance shall break astray. 
Hark how the rolling surge of sound. 
Arches and spirals circlin.g round. 
Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear 
With music it is heaven to hear. 

Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 
All thought in its mysterious folds; 
That feels sensation's faintest thrill. 
And flashes forth the sovereign will; 
Think on the stormy world that dwells 
Locked in its dim and clustering cells! 
The lightning gleams of power it sheds 
Along its hollow glassy threads! 

O Father! grant thy love divine 
To make these mystic temples thine! 
When wasting age and wearying strife 
Have sapped the leaning walls of life, 
When darkness gathers over all. 
And the last tottering pillars fall. 
Take the poor dust thy mercy warms. 
And mold it into heavenly forms! 

OLivBB Wendell Holmes. 



THE CLEAR VISION. 

I did but dream! I never knew 

What charms our sternest sea.son wore, 
■Was never yet the sky so blue. 

Was nev«r earth so white before. 
Till now I never .saw the glow 
Of sunset on yon hills of snow. 
And never learned the bough's designs 
Of beauty in its leafless lines. 

Did ever such a morning break 
As that my eastern windows see? 

Did ever such a moonlight take 

"Weird photographs of shrub pnd tree? 

Rang ever bells so wild and fleet 

The music of the winter street? 



Was ever yet a sound by half 

So merry as yon school-boy's laugh? 

O Earth! witli gladness overfraught, 

No added charm thy face hath found; 
Within my lieart the change is wrought, 

My footsteps make enchanted ground. 
Forth couch of pain and curtained room. 
Forth to thy light and air I come. 
To find in all that meets my eyes 
The freshness of a glad surprise. 

Fair seem these winter days, and soon 

Shall blow the warm west-winds of spring. 
To set the unbound rills in tune. 

And hither urge the bluebird's wing. 
The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods 
Grow misty green with leafing buds. 
And violets and wind-flowers sway 
Against the throbbing heart of May. 

Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own 

The wiser love severely kind; 
Since, richer for its chastening grown, 

I see, wliereas I once was blind. 
The world, O Father! hath not wronged 
With loss of life by thee prolonged; 
But still, with every added year. 
More beautiful thy works appear! 

As thou hast made thy world without. 

Make thou more fair my world within; 
Shine through Its lingering clouds of doubt; 

Rebuke its haujiting shapes of sin; 
Fill, brief or long, my granted span 
Of life with love to thee and man; 
Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest. 
But let my last days be my best! 

John Gbkenleap Whittibjb. 



SUNSET ON THE BLACKHAWK. 

Day is dying on the Blackhawk; 

Slowly sinks the orb of light; 
Dark'ning shadows from the eastward 

Mark the sure approach of night. 

Yes, the day is dying, dying; 

Songbirds soon will tuck their heads 
'Neath their wings, while woodland rovers 

Will be seeking their rude beds. 

Evening zephyrs idly wander 
Through each <iuiet, shady dell. 

Rustling every drooping leaflet. 
Some familiar tale to tell. 

On the calm and peaceful surface 

Of the Blackhawk's winding stream. 
Here and there are dim reflections 

Of an old, forgotten dream. 

• 
In the rippling of its waters 

We can liear a murmur low. 
And, perchance, we catch faint echoes 

Rising from the long ago. 

Lingering near we wait to listen — 
Summer's twilight slowly dies. 



106 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



While the ever murmuring waters 

Silently soliloquize. 

Speak they of our red-faced brothers. 
Men whose race of life was run 

Ere we drove their kindred westward, 
Farther toward the setting sun. 

"Long ago the daylight faded 
On this peaceful little stream; 

Long ago they watched the starlight 
On its silvery waters gleam; 

"Long ago they roved the woodlands 
Bordering on the Blackhawk's brink, 

Drew the fish from out its waters, 
Saw within dark shadows sink. 

"Heard they then the gushing, gurgling 
Sound from where the streamlets flow; 

At the river's head they gathered 
In the sweet old long ago. 

"Up and down the land they wandered 
To the north, south, east, and west; 

But they loved to light their campfiros 
By the dear old Blackhawk best." 

Swiftly glides Time's river onward. 
Never backward does it flow; 

Daylight faded on the Blackhawk 
For the redmen long ago. 

ELSig E. EOEBMBIER. 



DAWN. 

The night was dark, though sometimes a 

faint star 
A little while a little space made bright. 
The night was long, and, like an iron bar, 
Lay heavy on the land: till o'er the sea 
Slowly, within the east, tliere grew a light 
■Which half was starlight, and half seemed 

to be 
The herald of a greater. The pale white 
Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the 

height 
Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sta 

grew 
Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew 
Straight toward the utmost boundary of 

the east, 
Wfiere slowly the rose gathered and in- 
creased. 
It was as on the opening of a door 
By one that in his hand a lamp doth hold, 
Wiiose flame is hidden by the garment's 

fold— 
The still air moves, the wide room is less 

dim. 

More bright the east became; the ocean 

turned 
Dark and more dark against the brighten- 
ing sky — 
Sharper against tlie sky the long sea-line. 
The hollows of the breakers on the shore 
■Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth 

shine. 



Though white the outer branches of the tree. 
From rose to red the level heaven burned; 
Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on 

high, 
A blade of gold flashed on the horizon's rim. 
Richard W. Gildbb. 



THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

The melancholy days are come, the sad- 
dest of the year — ■ 

Of wailing winds and naked woods and 
meadows brown and sear. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the 
autumn leaves lie dead; 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to 
the rabbit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are Jlown, and 
from tlie shrubs the jay. 

And from the wood-top calls the crow 
though all the trees are still, 

"Wliere are the flowers, tlie fair young 
flowers, that lately sprang and stood 

In brighter light and softer airs, a beau- 
teous sisterhood? 

Alas! they all are in their graves; the 
gentle race of flowers 

Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair 
and good of ours. 

The rain is falling where they lie, but the 
cold November rain 

Calls not from out the gloomy earth the 
lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they per- 

i.shed long ago. 
And the briar-rose and the orchis died amid 

the summer glow; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the 

aster in the wood, 
And tlie yellow sunflower by the brook, 

in autumn beauty stood. 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold 

heaven, as falls the plague on men. 
And the brightness of their smile has gone 

from upland, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, 

as still sucli days will come. 
To call the sqmrrel and the bee from out 

their winter home; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is lieard, 

through all the gloomy day. 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters 

of the rill; 
The south-wind searches for the flowers 

wliose fragrance late he bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by 

the stream no more. 

And then I think of one who In her youth- 
ful beauty died. 

The fair meek blossom that grew up and 
faded by my side, 

In the cold moist earth we laid her, when 
the forests cast the leaf, 

Vnd we wept that one so lovely should 
have a life so brief; 



NATURE POEMS. 



107 



Yet not unmeet it was tliat one, like that 

young friend of ours. 
So g-entle and so beautiful, should perish 

with the flowers. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE PRIMEVAL FOREST. 

[From the Introduction of "Evangeline.'*] 

This is the forest primeval. The murmur- 
ing pines and the hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, 
indistinct in the twilight. 

Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad 
and prophetic; 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that 
rest on their bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep- 
voiced neighboring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate an- 
swers tlie wail of tlie forest. 

This is the forest primeval; but where are 
the hearts that beneath it 

Leaped like tlie roe when he hears in the 
woodland the voice of the huntsman? 

nEXRT WADSWOKTH LONGFELLOW. 



THE FALL OF THE OAK. 

A glorious tree is the old gray oak: 
He has stood for a thousand years, 
Has stood and frowned 
On the trees around. 
Like a king among his peers; 
As round their king they stand, so now. 

When the flowers their pale leaves fold. 
The tall trees round him stand, arrayed 
In their robes of purple and gold. 

He has stood like a tower 
Through sun and shower, 
And dared the winds to battle; 
He has heard the hail. 
As from plates of mail. 
From his own limbs shaken, rattle; 
He has tossed them about, and shorn the 
tops 
(When the storm had roused his might) 
Of the forest-trees, as a strong man doth 
The heads of his foes in flght. 

The autumn sun looks kindly down. 
But the frost is on the lea, 

And sprinkles the horn 

Of the owl at morn, 
As she hies to the old oak-tree. 

Not a leaf is stirred; 

Not a sound is heard 
But the thump of the thresher's flail, 

The low wind's sigh, 

Or the distant cry 
Of the hound on the fox's trail. 

The forester he has whistling plunged 
With his axe, in the deep wood's gloom. 
That shrouds the hill. 
Where few and chill 



The sunbeams struggling come; 
His brawny arm he has bared, and laid 
His axe at the root of the tree. 
The gray old oak, 
And, with lusty stroke. 
He wields it merrily — 

With lusty stroke, — 
And the old gray oak. 
Through the folds of his gorgeous vest 
Tou may see him shake, 
And the night-owl break 
From her perch in his leafy crest. 
She will come but to find him gone from 
where 
He stood at the break of day; 
Like a cloud that peals as it melts to air. 
He has passed, with a crash, away. 

Though the spring in the bloom and the 
frost in gold 
Xo more his limbs attire, 
On the stormy wave 
He shall float, and brave 
The blast and the battle-fire! 
Shall spread his white wings to the wind. 
And thunder on the deep. 

As he thundered when 
His bough was green, 
On the high and stormy steep. 

GEORoa niLL. 



TO THE DANDELION. 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside 
the way. 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold; 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and full of pride up- 
hold. 
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that 
they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 

"Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth, thou art more dear 

to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms 
may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Span- 
ish prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease: 
'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scat- 
ters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 
Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy;" 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 

The eyes thou givest me 

Are in the heart, and heed not space or time; 

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 

Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 



106 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



From the dark green thy yellow circles 
burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the 
y rass ; 
Of meadows where in sun the euttle i?raze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 
The ifleaming rushes lean a thousand ways; 
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass. 
Or whiten in the wind; of waters blue 
That from the distance sparkle throush 
Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 
Wliere one wliite cloud like a stray lamb 
doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are 
linked with thee; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's 
song, 
Wlio, from the dark, old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 

And I, secure in childish piety, 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

W'ith news from heaven, which he 
could bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 
Wlhen birds and flowers and I were 
happy peers. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem. 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human lieart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret 
show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe. 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom 

look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 
James Russell Lowell. 



SING ME A SONG, SWEET BIRDS. 

Ye happy birds that hop about 

From bough to bough in shady bowers. 

Come, sing to ma at set of sun. 
And cheer my solitary hours, 
Te blissful birds. 

Tell me a tale of southern seas. 
With sunny islands dotted o'er, 

Of the seagulls' cry and storm-tossed ships. 
Of waves that haunt the pebbly shore — 
In rhythmic words. 

Oh! tell me of the land of flowers, 
Of the sunny southland far away; 

Of bri.ght-hued birds in tangled nooks. 
That chirp all night and sing all day. 
Their happy songs. 

Of the deep, dark forest sing to me, 
Of the flowers that grow by the river's side; 

And sing me the song that the rivers sang 
To you as they wandered on in their pride, 
Through all day long. 



Oh! tell me of your last years nest. 
And where you built it, tell me pray; 

And are your birdies safe from harm? 
Or were they stolen on the way 
By cruel hands? 

If you would build just out of sight 
High in the fern-trees by the wall. 

And keep your birdies safe at home, 

You need not wander far, at all. 

In stranger lands. 

Sing me the song that last you saner 
Down in the forest by the sea; 

Come, perch upon the window-sill 
And sing- your sweetest song to me; 
No one is near. 

'Twas such a pretty song you sang; 

Now fly away, you tiny things; 
And if when daylight comes again, 

You seek for me with tireless wings. 
You'll flnd me here. 

MABt p. BKIET.S. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE- 
TREE. 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the 

spade; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mold with kindly care. 

And press it o'er them tenderly. 
As round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 

^Tliat plant we in this apple-tree? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Sliall lengthen into leafy sprays; 
Boughs where the thrush with crimson 

breast, 
Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest; 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

\\lien we plant the apple-tree. 

Wliat plant we in this apple-tree? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from tlie orchard's row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors; 

A world of blossoms for the bee. 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room. 
For tlie glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon. 
And drop, when gentle airs come by. 
That fan the blue September sky. 

While children come, with cries of glee. 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 



NATURE POExMS. 



109 



And when, above this apple-tree, 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night, 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth; 

And guests in prouder homes shall see. 
Heaped with the grape of Cintras vine 
And golden orange of the Line, 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 

The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar. 
Where men shall wonder at the view. 
And ask in what fair groves they grew; 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day 
And long, long hours of summer play. 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 

Each year shall give this apple-tree 
A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower. 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie. 
The summer's songs, the autumns sigh. 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 

And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 
Thin shadows on the ground below. 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be. 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this apple-tree? 

"Who planted this old apple-tree?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man sliall say; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem. 
The gray-haired man shall answer them: 

"A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes 

On planting the apple-tree." 

WlLLIiM CULLEN BRTAXT. 



GOD everywhe;re in nature. 

How desolate were nature, and how void 
Of every charm, how like a naked waste 
Of Africa, were not a present God 
Beheld employing, in its various scenes. 
His active might to animate and adorn; 
What life and beauty, when, in all that 

breathes. 
Or moves, or grows, his hand is viewed at 

work? 
WTien It is viewed unfolding every bud, 
Each blossom tingeing, shaping every leaf. 
Wafting each cloud, that passes o'er the sky, 
Rolling each billow, moving every wing 
That fans the air. and every warbling throat 
Heard in the tuneful woodlands! In the least 
As well as in the greatest of his works 



Is ever manifest his presence kind; 

As well in swarms of glittering Insects, 

seen 
Quick to and fro within a foot of air. 
Dancing a merry hour, then seen no more. 
As in the systems of resplendent worlds. 
Through time revolving in unbounded space. 
His eye, while comprehending in one view 
The whole creation, fixes full on me; 
As on me shines the sun with his full blaze. 
While o'er the hemisphere he spreads the 

same, 
His hand, while holding oceans in its palm. 
And compassing the skies, surrounds my 

life. 
Guards the poor rushlight from the blast 

of death. 

Cahi.os Wilcox. 



MORNING AMONG THE HILLS. 

A night had passed away among tlie hills. 
An now the first faint tokens of the dawn 
Showed in the east. The bright and dewy 

star 
Whose mission is to usher in the morn, 
Looked through the cool air. like a olessed 

thing 
In a far purer world; below, there lay, 
Wrapped round a woody mountain tran- 
quilly, 
A misty cloud. 

Its edges caught the light 
That now came up from out the unseen 

depth 
Of the full fount of day, and they were 

laced 
With colors ever brightening. I had waked 
From a long sleep of many changing dreams. 
And now in the fresh forest air I stood. 
Nerved to another day of wandering. 

Below, there lay a far-extended sea, 
Rolling in feathery waves. The wind blew 

o'er it 
And tossed it round the high-ascending 

rocks, 
^Uid swept it through the half-hidden for- 
est-tops. 
Till, like an ocean waking into storm. 
It heaved and weltered. Gloriously the 

light 
Crested its billows, and those craggy is- 
lands 
Slione on it like to palaces of spar. 
Built on a sea of pearl. 

The sky bent round 
The awful dome of a most mighty temple. 
Built by Omnipotent hands, for nothing less 
Than infinite worship. There I stood In 

silence; 
I had no words to tell the mingled thoughts 
Of wonder and of joy which then came o'er 

me. 
Even with a whirlwind's rush. 

So beautiful. 
So bright, so glorious! Such a majesty 
In yon pure vault! So many dazzling tints 
In yonder waste of waves — so like the ocean 



no 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



with its unnumbered islands there encircled 
By foaming: surges. 

Soon away the mist-cloud rolled, 
W&ve after wave. They climbed the high- 
est rocks, 
Poured over them in surges, and then rushed 
Down glens and valleys like a winter's tor- 
rent, 
Dashed instant to the plain. It seemed a 

moment. 
And they were gone, as if the touch of fire 
At once dissolved them! 

Then I found myself 
Midway in air, ridge after ridge below 
Descending with their opulence of woods 
Even to the dim-seen level, where a lake 
Flashed in the sun, and from it wound a line, 
Now silvery bright, even to the furthest 

verge 
Of the encircling hills. 

A waste of rocks 
Wbs round me, but below — how beautiful; 
How rich the plain! a wilderness of groves 
And ripening harvests; while the sky of 

June 
The soft, blue sky of June, and the cool air 
That makes it then a luxury to live 
Only to breathe it, and the busy echo 
Of cascades and the voice of mountain- 
brooks 
Stole with so gentle meaning to my heart. 
That where I stood seemed heaven! 

J. G. Peeoival. 



THE BROOK. 

Little rambling, sunny stream. 
Round thee plays the bright sunbeam 
Racing, chasing — never mind; 
Doubt and fear you'll leave behind. 
■With thy dimpled smile draw near, 
Into crease and crevice peer. 
Into secret crannies look. 
Laughing, babbling little brook. 

Catching rain-drops as they fall. 
Pressing through the garden wall, 
Flowing, going ev'ry where — 
Busy here and busy there; 
Bounding, springing, full of glee, 
Ever trending t'ward the sea, 
Bold to enter ev'ry nook, 
Gurgling, rippling, bubbling brook. 

Never resting by the way. 
Time thy current can not stay; 
Winding like a silver thread 
O'er thy mossy gravel bed; 
Oft thou'st given birdlings drink 
As they rested on thy brink 
And their dainty pinions shook 
O'er thy pillow, charming brook. 

Murm'rlng, singing soft and low, 
Gently gliding, on you go; 
■^Tien all Nature sinks to sleep. 
With the stars you vigil keep; 
Gone from view the light of day. 
For the sunbeams fled away 



And thy quiet haunts forsook; 
Yet you toil on, patient brook! 

Dashing down the mountain's side, 
'Neath his rugged brow you hide, 
Willie life's purpose you fulfil. 
Cunning, sparkling little rill; 
Where thy wand'ring course was bent 
And thy .shining virtues went 
Nature of thy joys partook. 
Pleasant, happy, cheerful brook. 

Those who would life's pleasure find, 
And, like thee, have peace of mind, 
Would they all thy secrets know, 
To thy waters let them go 
And within their crystal smile — 
Glad the moments to beguile — 
Read, as in an open book, 
Thy sweet story, joyous brook! 

Ever faithful little friend, 

Wouldst thy spirit to me lend? 

Though Time's shades may round me fall 

And enfold me like a pall. 

May my life be one sweet strain 

Floating to th' eternal main, 

As I pensive stand and look 

In thy depths, O smiling brook! 

ANNi K. THOMiS. 



SUNRISE IN THE SOUTHWEST. 

From far gray ridges bald and bare 
Bewildered darkness glides away; 
The gaunt wolf shrinking to his lair, 
Howls dismal in the face of day. 

The eagle from his misty height 
Surveys the dawn with sanguine eye; 
Beyond the distant shores of light 
He sees the star of morning die; 
He spreads his wings above the peak, 
The smoky vapors round him curled. 
And, rising with exultant shriek. 
Defies the feathered world. 

As hope disperses human care, 
So morning clears the mist away; 
There is a freshness in the air, 
A vigor in the dawning day. 
The clam'rous flocks beside the flood 
Fly from the timid-footed fawn; 
The whirling wreck of drifted wood 
Rolls, and the river rumbles on. 

And whereso'er the eye may rest, 
From north to south, from east to west. 
Rock, river, lake, and mountain height 
Are wrapped in universal light. 
Sublimest work of Master hand, 
The sunrise in a lonely land 
With naught that's human to impair 
The luster and the glory there. 

King of the choir — the mocking-bird — 
Remote in shadowy cedars heard. 
Tells to the breeze with swelling throat 
The wonders of his varied note. 



NATURE POEMS. 



Ill 



Ere first the shadows liave reclined 
On waters brisk with morning: wind, 
Before the sunbeam reaches there, 
A thousand voices fill the air; 

Tet not a single bar is wrong 
In all that wilderness of song. 
■W"hat melody where every throat 
Is gifted with a native note! 
The very hawk on deadly trail 
With stormy music fills the gale! 
TSTiilst we. in voiceless wonder stand. 
Dumb dreamers in a desert land. 

The longing eyes, the lips compressed. 
Do well betray the yearning breast: 
Our naked thoughts like fledgeless birds 
Still flutter for their winged words; 
Tet ne'er to mortal doth belong 
The art to reach the depth of song. 
We live, and with sublime distress. 
Behold and feel what none express. 

The poet 'rapt in metric lore. 
Is nature's mimic, nothing more: 
Poor mote of heaven's central beam, 
He reaches forth to grasp the dream 
As though his very soul were drawn 
Beyond the red expanding dawn. 

H. P. o'Beirne. 



AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. 

The rain is o'er. How dense and bright 
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie! 

Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight. 
Contrasting with the dark blue sky! 

In grateful silence earth receives 

The general blessing; fresh and fair, 

Each flower expands its little leaves. 
As glad the common joy to share. 

The softened sunbeams pour around 
A fairy light, uncertain, pale; 

The wind blows cool; the scented ground 
Is breathing odors on the gale. 

Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, 
Methinks some spirit of the air 

Might rest, to gaze below a while. 
Then turn to bathe and revel there. 

The sun breaks forth; from oft the scene 
Its floating veil of mist is flung; 

And all the wilderness of green 

With trembling drops of light is hung. 

Now gaze on Nature — yet the same — 
Glowing with life, by breezes fanned. 

Luxuriant, lovely, as she came. 

Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. 

Hear the rich music of that voice. 
Which sounds from all below, above; 

She calls her children to rejoice. 

And round them throws her arms of love. 

Drink in her influence; low-born care. 



And all the train of mean desire. 
Refuse to breathe this holy air. 
And raid this living light expire. 

.\Nr>riEW3 NOKTON. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 

Whither, midst falling dew 
While glow the heavens with the last steps 

of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou 
pursue 
Thy solitary way? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee 

wrong. 
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky. 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seekest thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmos- 
phere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end; 
Soon Shalt thou find a summer home, and 

rest. 
And scream among thy fellows: reeds shall 
bend. 
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. 

TJiou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my 

heart 
Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given. 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy cer- 
tain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone. 
Will lead my steps aright. 

William Cullen Betant. 



LINES TO A WHITE 
CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

Deep as the silence of thought, lovely flovr. 
Lie thy soft charms in my heart's sacred 

bow'r; 
Fondly secure is thy beauty enshrined 
Midst the affection that round me vou 

twined. 
Fragrant and pure is thy delicate breath. 
Sweet in thy life and still pleasant in deatli; 



112 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Hunar with rare graces, though voiceless 

and mild. 
Subtle thy witch'ry, O Flora's fair child! 

Dainty white petals of exquisite mold 
Form brighter wreathlets than crowns 

wrought in gold; 
Kings with their equipage, glory, and fame 
Never outrival thine own quiet reign; 
Artless and graceful — we note ev'ry curve — 
Cheering, endearing, you rule while you 

serve; 
Much we esteem thee, thy merits admire, 
Thrilled with delight, which thy virtues 

Inspire. 

Dear little friend, ever faithful and true, 
Welcome and greeting we hold out to you. 
When with your presence you bring us 

good cheer — • 
Cherish t)iy mem'ry when thou art not near. 
Teach us thy loveliness — how we may win 
Souls for our Savior, who'll cleanse them 

from sin. 
Weave for them chaplets which never de- 
cay; 
Those, who obeying, will walk in his way 
Anna K. Thomas. 



ANTHRACITE. 

Back in the misty ages past 

There grew a forest by the sea, 
WTilch o'er the land dark shadows cast, 

And shelter'd snail-like mollusks free 
Late, passing from cliaotic time, 

This orb unfitted was for man; 
Strange creatures burrowed in the slime 

That marred its yet unfinished plan 

But not in vain that forest grew 

IJy steamy sea, or warm lagoon; 
From beams of ancient suns it drew 

For coming time a needed boon. 
Then rose the floods and covered deep 

That old-time forest from the light; 
Now, after jeons vast of sleep. 

Behold it in the anthracite! 

Wliat angry seas have surged and rolUnl, 

Exchanging places with the land. 
Since floods swept down that forest old, 

Entombing it 'neath beds of sand! 
There, in each tissue, stem, and frond, 

Were sealed the latent lisht and heat. 
Till, in the ages long beyond. 

The world for man should be complete! 

Released now from its darksome bed 

By force of sturdy miner's blow. 
It gives to man the sunbeams, shed 

Perchance a million years ago! 
There, in that grate of anthracite. 

Weird forms In wreaths of blue flame 
curled. 
May thy observing eye delight 

W^ith visions of an ancient world! 



No graceful wing of tuneful bird. 

With song to greet the rosy morn, 
Is in that primal forest heard, 

And flowers sweet are yet unborn. 
But, seething in the sun's hot glare. 

O'er beaches strewn with chambered 
shells, 
Beliold what seas sweep wildly there, 

Engulfing all beneath their swells! 

In marshes warm tall tree-ferns grow; 

The calamite its stem uprears, 
Where steaming vapors, noxious, flow 

From carbon-laden atmospheres. 
And there the sunlight and the rain, 

With all tlie elements combine, 
To store beneath some ancient main 

These hoarded treasures of the mine! 

A. R. FULTOH. 



GOOD-BY, OLD ROCKIES. 

I love your wild, romantic beauties. 

Ye forms that seem to vie 
Each with the summit of his neighbor. 
And pierce the giddy sky. 
Old Rockies, now to you 
I bid adieu, adieu. 
But hope we part not here forever. 

I leave you as I found you, covered 

With winter's chilly shroud. 
Reaching toward the starry heavens. 
And mantled in the clouds. 
While I God's mercy preach. 
And you his greatness teach. 
We jointly glorify our Maker. 

I read upon your lofty bulwarks 

The might of nature's God. 
ViHiat fortresses tliy hands have bullded 
Wliere human feet ne'er trod! 
Tlie strength of these are thine. 
And round their apex shine 
Jehovah's bright creative glory. 

The dreadful heat and vast explosions 

That have ye mountains cast. 
Was God Almighty's moulting furnace. 
His great creative blast: 
He cut between the hills 
A channel for the rills. 
And cleft the mountains for his rivers. 

And oh, ye dear old rustic Rockies, 

How well you've taught to me, 
While gazing on your wondrous beauties, 
God's awful majesty! 
Thy peaks in eloquence 
Proclaim omnipotence. 
And magnify their .great Creator. 

The sunbeams of the hot midsummer 

Fall coolly on thy snow. 
That reigns in bleak perpetual winter 
On Pike's majestic brow: 

And from the lines where meet 
Winter's snow and summer's heat. 
Flow heaven's best and sparkling bev'ragre. 



NATURE POEMS. 



113 



Here He who hath all things created, 

Beholding that the rain, 
Conveyed by clouds, were insufficient 
To fresh the skirting plain, 
Doth treasure up the snow, 
And send its gracious flow 
To bless the broad and fertile valleys. 

So then ye long and lofty ranges. 

Your tributes do bestow, 
Upon the herds and greedy grangers 
That crop the plains below: 
Far o'er the broad domain, 
You cause the springing grain. 
Through skilful ducts of irrigation. 

I passed thy Royal Gorge at midnight. 

And looking twixt the cars. 
Up through the cliffs that seem to mingle 
Their summits with the stars, 
A sense of holy awe 
At what my vision saw. 
My mind and inmost soul o'erwhelmed. 

The deep and solemn winding passage 

Gave only straightened place 
To Nahum's chariots and that wild stream- 
let. 
That wore the mountain's base; 
While on our right and left 
The lofty mountains cleft. 
Stood vertical or tops inclining. 

Three miles or more, with awe and wonder, 

We tread the deep defile: 
Down into which the king of noonday 
Casts but a passing smile. 

Would you this scene command. 
Then take the Rio Grande 
And look beyond the flight of poets. 

Daniei, S. Wab.ner. 



A FOREST HYMN. 

The groves were God's first temples. Ere 

man learned 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave. 
And spread the roof above them — ere he 

framed 
The loftv vault to gather and roll back 
The sound of anthems — in the darkling 

wood, 
Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down 
And oflfer'd to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication; for his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred influences 
Which from the stilly twilight of the place. 
And from the gray old trunks that high in 

h eaven 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the 

sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and 

bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless 

power 
And inaccessible majesty. Ah! why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, 

neglect 



God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
Only among the crowd, and under roofs 

That our frail hands have raised? Let 
me, at least. 

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. 

Offer one hymn — thrice happy If It find 

Acceptance in His ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath rear'd these venerable columns. Thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst 

look down 
Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy 

sun, 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in 

thy breeze. 
And shot toward heaven. The century-liv- 
ing crow, 
Wliose birth was in their tops, grew old 

and died 
Among their branches, till at last they 

stood. 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and 

dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim 

vaults. 
These winding aisles, of human pomp and 

pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race, to change the 

form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here; 

thou flllest 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
That run along the summit of these trees 
In music; thou art in the cooler breath 
That from the inmost darkness of the place 
Comes, scarcely felt. The barky trunks, 

the ground — 
The fresh, moist ground — are all instinct 

with thee. 
Here is continual worship. Nature, here. 
In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around. 
From perch to perch, the solitary bird 
Passes: and yon clear spring, that, 'midst 

its herbs. 
Wells softly forth, and, wandering, steeps 

the roots 
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 
Thyself without a witness, in these shades. 
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, 

and grace. 
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak, 
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 
Almost annihilated, not a prince 
In all that proud old world beyond the deep 
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 
Wears the green coronal of leaves with 

which 
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his 

root 
Is beauty such as blooms not in the glare 
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest- 
flower. 
With scented breath, and look so like a 

smile. 



114 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Seems, as it issues from the shapeless moid, 
An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
A visible token of the upholding Love, 
That are the soul of this wide universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on 
In silence round me — the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, flnish'd, yet renew'd 
Forever. Written on thy works, I read 
The lesson of thy own eternity. 
Lo! all grow old and die; but see again 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful 

youth, 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Holder beneatli them. Oh! there is not lost 
One of earth's charms: upon lier bosom yet. 
After the flight of untold centuries. 
The freshness of her far beginning lies, 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch-enemy, Death; yea, seats him- 
self 
Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulcher — 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came 

forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no 
end. 

There have been holy men who hid them- 
selves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they 

outlived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them; and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life 

thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies. 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps 

shrink. 
And tremble, and are still. O God, when thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on 

fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or 

fill 
With all the water of the firmament 
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the 

woods 
And drowns the villages, — when, at thy 

call. 
Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
Upon the continent and overwhelms 
Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies 

by? 
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the 

wrath 
Of the mad, unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate 
In these calm shades thy milder majesty. 
And to the beautiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives. 
William Cullen Bryant. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed. 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountainside or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Snug and safe in that nest of ours. 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed. 

Wearing a briglit black wedding-coat; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest: 
Hear him call in his merry note; 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
Look what a nice coat is mine; 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 

Pretty and quiet with plain brown wings. 
Passing at home a patient life. 

Broods in the grass while her husband 
sings; 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 

Chee. chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she, 

One weak chirp is her only note; 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he. 
Pouring boasts from his little throat: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
Never was I afraid of man; 
Catch me, cowardly knaves. If you can. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple — a pretty sight! 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
Nice good wife that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell. 

Six wide mouths are open for food; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well. 
Gathering seed for the hungry brood. 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 

Chee. chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work and silent with care; 
Oft is his holiday garment laid. 
Half forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o*-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 



NATURE POEMS. 



115 



Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes; the children are grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows; 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone. 
OfC he flies, and we sing as he goes: 
Bob-o'-link, hob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink. 
Wlien you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 

Chee, chee, chee. 
William Cullen Bryant. 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT-WIND. 

Unbridled Spirit, throned upon the lap 
Of ebon Midnight, whither dost thou stray? 
■UHience didst thou come, and where is thy 

abode? 
From slumber I awaken at the sound 
Of thy most melancholy voice. Sublime, 
Thou ridest on the rolling clouds, which take 
The form of sphinx, or hippogriff, or car, 
Like those of Roman conquerors of yore 
In Nemean pastimes used, by fiery steeds 
Drawn headlong on; or chooscst, all unseen. 
To ride the vault, and drive the murky 

storms 
Before thee, or bow down, with giant wing. 
The wondering forests as thou sweepest by! 

Daughter of Darkness! when remote the 

noise 
Of tumult, and of discord, and mankind; 
When but the watch-dog's voice is heard, 

or wolves 
That bay the silent night, or from the tower. 
Ruined and rent, the note of boding owl. 
Or lapwing's shrill and solitary cry; 
When sleep weighs down the eyelids of tlie 

world. 
And life is as it were not, — down the sky, 
Forth from thy cave, wide-roaming, thou 

dost come 
To hold nocturnal orgies. 

Behold! 
Stemming with eager prow tlie Atlantic 

tide 
Holds on the intrepid mariner; abroad 
The wings of night brood shadowy; heave 

the waves 
Around him, mutinous, their curling heads. 
Portentous of a storm; all hands are plied, 
A zealous task, and sounds the busy deck 
With notes of preparation; many an eye 
Is upward cast toward the clouded heaven; 
And man.v a thought, with troubled tender- 
ness 
Dwells on the calm tranquillity of home; 
And many a heart its supplicating prayer 
Breathes forth; meanwhile, the boldest sail- 
or's cheek 
Blanches, stout courage fails, young child- 
hood's shriek 
Awfully piercing bursts, and woman's fears 
Are speechless. 



With a low, insidious moan. 
Rush past the gales that harbinger thy way. 
And hail thy advent; gloom the murky 

clouds 
Darker around; and heave the maddening 

waves 
Higher their crested summits. With a glare 
Unveiling but the clouds and foaming sea. 
Flashes the lightning, then, with doubling 

peal. 
Reverberating to the gates of heaven, 
Rolls the deep thunder, with tremendous 

crash. 
Sublime as if the firmament were rent 
Amid the severing clouds that pour their 

storms. 
Commingling sea and sky. 

Disturbed, arise 
The monsters of the deep, and wheel around 
Their mountainous bulk unwieldy, while 

aloft. 
Poised on the feathery summit of the wave. 
Hangs the frail bark, its bowlings of 

despair. 
Lost on the mocking storm. Then frantic, 

thou 
Dost rise, tremendous Power, thy wings 

unfurled — ■ 
Unfurled, but not to succor nor to save: 
Then is thine hour of triumph; with a yell 
Thou rushest on, and with a maniac tone 
Sing'st in the rifted shroud; the straining 

mast 
Yields, and the cordage cracks. 

Thou churnest the deep 
To madness, tearing up the yellow .sands 
From their profound recesses and dost 

strew 
The clouds around thee, and within thy 

hand 
Takest up the billowy tide, and dashest 

down 
The vessel to destruction! — She is not! — 
But when the morning lifts her dewy eye. 
And to a quiet calm, the elements. 
Subsiding from their fury, have dispersed. 
There art thou, like a satiate conqueror. 
Recumbent on the murmuring deep, thy 

smiles 
All unrepentant of the savage wreck. 



THE ARCANA OF NATURE. 

Spirit of the great unknown, 

I dwell in the infinite seas; 
I sing in the wind's glad tone. 

And sigh in the soft summer breeze; 
I brood in silence and storm, 

I come with the earthquake's wrath; 
I pillow the worlds on my arm. 

And stay the sweet moons in their path. 

I scatter the sunshine of June 

That heralds the grass and the grain; 

I dream by the fountains at noon, 
Or waken the winter again; 

My girdle of rainbows I bind 
As I sit by the gray ocean-side; 



116 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



My footsteps are fleeter than wind, 
My pulse is the flow of the tide. 

I am soul of legions of suns, 

I touch their swift wheels with my hand, 
Yet tlie smallest streamlet that runs 

Is mine with its silvery band, 
And mine is its silvery song; 

Though the chorus of stars is ray own, 
I hasten their cycling throng 

And hreatlie in their undertone. 

I marshal my forces and go 

To systems unseen of the earth, 
I laugh in their rivers tliat flow, 

I attend the least star at its birth; 
Of the universe I am the Lord, 

Though I whisper my secrets as mild 
As dew shimmering down on the sward. 

And I wait on the steps of your child. 

I am heart of the lily and rose, 

1 have painted them out of the deeps; 
I move in eacli blossom that blows. 

And the zephyr that over them sweeps; 
Yet I tread on the outermost bar. 

And ride on the ripples of day; 
I have twirled the bright rim of a star. 

And danced in its billows away. 

I have kept for the children of men 

A book illumined with gold; 
Vast suns wrought my radiant pen. 

And the volume shall never grow old; 
I have lettered the rocks by the sea, 

In the caverns and depths of the mine; 
I have writ on the ages that flee 

A psalm and a sermon divine. 

MiRt BaISD FtNCH. 



TO A MOUNTAIN BLUEBELL. 

Little flower of bonny blue, 
Welcome is thy tender hue. 
Tinted like an ocean-shell. 
Dainty little mountain-bell; 
Blooming o'er the murky mines, 
'Neath the moaning of the pines. 
And the aromatic flr, 
Neighbor of the juniper; 
In the music of thy bells 
Tell me of the mountain-dells. 
And the mountain-breezes blown 
In thy plaintive undertone. 

With the song of mountain-rills 
Hurrying to the hungry mills. 
Whisper low and true to me 
Of a prehistoric sea; 
Of the Vulcan hand that brought 
Order from the ruin wrought. 
Where the mountain chain was born, 
In that dim chaotic morn. 
Slowly rose each hill and lea — 
Islands in a golden sea. 
Blue as are thy bonny bells 
Singing of the ocean-shells. 

Canst thou tell the low, sweet words 
Murmured by the strangest birds. 



WTiere the brown nun sits and sings, 
Crooning by the mountain-springs? 
Flower of the tender hue 
Like the eyes that once I knew. 
Eyes that liaunt me yet afar 
Where thy blue-robed sisters are; 
Eyes like some sweet placid water 
Hadst my little mountain-daughter. 
And I dream of her at night 
In her lonely bed of white. 
Sleeping near the Western mountains, 
By the bluebells and the fountains. 
Mart Caird Finch. 



LOVE IN NATURE. 

The summer day is dying now; 
The dew falls on her cool, pale brow; 
The red round sun goes to his rest 
Beliind the tinted woodland's crest; 
The western sky so ruddy glows. 
And breathes on me a sweet repose; 
Fond Nature coui ts in tender love 
The beauteous graces from above. 

The hours of day, with duty done, 
Have gone in silence, one by one. 
Into the sober, solemn past 
To come no more while time sliall last; 
But deeds done in them stand for aye. 
And will return some future day. 
Should they in memory come no more. 
They'll face thee on the other shore; 
Thy thoughts, thy words, thy deeds, O man, 
All are recorded — 'tis God's plan — 
And shall accounted be by thee 
In the dawning of eternity. 
My soul, this truth e'er bear in mind. 
And as thou leavest each day behind. 
By virtuous thoughts and lowly mien 
Keep all thy pages white and clean. 

The little stars in pale blue light 

Now smile a welcome to the night; 

The river sings its sweetest song, 

And on its bosom bears along 

The moonbeams as they peaceful fall 

Through leafy towering tree-tops tall. 

A line of clouds, in beauty dressed. 

Upon the air in slumber rest; 

They speak in tlieir tranquillity 

A wondrous language unto me: 

"Shalt thou so peacefully repose 

When life's last day draws near its close?" 

From out his secret place of rest 
The horned owl wings the distant west 
In search of prey; now flies from sight 
Behind the deepening shades of night. 
The flowers in white and pink and blue 
Now ope tlieir cup to catch the dew; 
The beetle, silent all day long. 
Now liums, on wing, her drowsy song; 
The blade waves from the cornstalk tall 
Like banners in some kingly hall. 
Fond nature in this hour serene 
Unveils her sweetest, grandest scene — 
Such works reveal that "God Is love," 
And turn my thoughts to scenes above. 



NATURE POEMS. 



117 



In silence 'neath the starry skies 
My soul would thus soliloquize: 
"Man can view the beauteous flower, 
Glad nature's field and shady bower, 
Can walk the dark deep ocean's bed, 
Or tread the mountain's barren head. 
The smiling moon her course can trace, 
And note the hour she hides her face; 
But who, where sin has marred the scene. 
Where fades the flower and pales the green. 
Can know the bliss where love is queen 
And holy holiness is seen?" 

Chables E. Obr. 



GODS LANGUAGE. 

I've climbed the Sierra Madres; 

I've seen the bighorn's leap; 
I've fought the mighty silver-tip 

In canyons wild and deep; 

I've gone to rest at evening 

In lonely silent glens, 
■V\Tiere dark pines lift their towering crests. 

And gray wolves seek their dens; 

■Where light the perfumed zephyrs 
Cool on my brow would play. 

Until the sun came up at morn 
And chased the dawn away. 

The tall firs towered above me; 

I heard them whispering still — 
I see the velvet lawn beneath 

Laced with the mountain-rill. 

The grandeur of those grand old hills. 

How infinite! how sublime! 
'Tis God's own language to the soul — 

Th« impress of the Divine! 

E. G. Allanson. 



THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. 

Oh, see the trickling mountain-stream! 

It travels on with glint and gleam. 

Now through the sunshine, kissed by flowers. 

Replenished often by the showers; 

Then floweth on through shady dell. 

Where merry squirrels and song-birds dwell; 

The speckled and the rainbow trout 

Here swim and play and dart about, 

Evading fly or baited hook. 

Enjoying so this little brook. 

But soon it reaches boulders great; 

Shall It complain, the rocks berate? 

Ah, no! it dashes boldly on. 

From morn till night, from eve till dawn; 

For it is said by sages gray, 

"A constant drip wears rocks away." 

On then it leaps so cheerfully, 

And moisture gives each plant and tree — 

A pleasant, cheering stream withal. 

Oh, see! it forms a waterfall! 

How gracefully it tumbles down 

With gentle murmur but no frown 

Ever mars its placid countenance. 

But cheerily 'twill spray and dance, 

Encouraging the passer-by, 

As it the scene doth beautify. 



And stops it here? Nay, verily. 
But onward flows more placidly. 
And broader grows its winding bed. 
For oft by other streams 'tis fed, 
'Tis used much now to irrigate. 
The dry and barren land to sate. 
'Twas once a desert where it flows. 
But now doth blossom as the rose. 

O pleasant, cheerful, useful stream! 
So let our lives with beauties gleam. 
Renewed by showers from above 
To show this world that God is love; 
And as we're fed by streams of grace, 
With mountain-stream e'er keep apace. 
And so dispel some sad heart's gloom. 
That we shall make its desert bloom. 

Eva II. WuiT. 



VOICES OF NATURE. 

They come to us with solemn moan. 
And come in cheerful merry tone — 
Oft silently and still; 
But of their own sweet will 
They whisper to me 
A love that is free. 
And ever they speak of eternity. 

They come to us with morn's bright rays, 
And come with joyful notes of praise; 
At noon we sometimes hear 
Their echoes far and near. 
Which whisper to me, 
"Love pours like the sea 
Its fulness through gates of eternity." 

They come to us with night's footfall. 
So soft and sad, like death's dark pall 
That nature's fallen tears 
In sparkling dew appears, 
.\nd whisper to me 
In love like the sea. 
As deep as the bells of eternity. 

These voices come at any time. 
And speak to us of a fair clime 

That flows with peace and light 
In streets celestial, bright. 
And whisper to me 
Of love full and free, 
And ever it lives through eternity. 

They come to us, oh, everywhere, 
And every way our hearts may share 
The volumes yet untold, 
^Tiich Time's strong hand unfold 
Of love true and free 
That whispers to me 
And speaks of an endless eternity. 

A thousand chimes upon me break, — 
A thousand chords within me wake 
With messa.ges of love 
Like those that dwell above. 
And whisper to me, 
"Love lingers for thee 
As full as the shoreless eternity." 

These voices deep and solemn, tend 
To wing my thoughts, and to me send 
Their own sweet-scented breath. 



118 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Unsolled by fumes of death, 
And whisper to me 
In tones like the sea, 
"Love smiles o'er a boundless eternity." 

The silence of the moon and stars 
Speak louder than the noise of wars 
With all their deadly din; 
For they're defiled by sin, 
But these tell to me 
A love pure and free 
That echoes throughout an eternity. 

Anna K. Thoma.s. 



BEFORE THE STORM. 

The wind is hushed, there Is a calm. 

The aspen leaves are still; 
The song-sters' note no more is heard 

In valley, dell, or hill; 
The busy bees are hast'ning home 

Prom meadow, wood, and plain; 
All nature seems preparing: to 

Welcome the coming rain. 

The little lake beneath the hill 

Reflects the darkened sky 
Upon its placid breast, which will 

Be foaming by and by; 
And o'er the liills which westward rise 

The booming thunders sound; 
Nearer and nearer comes the rain 

To fill the thirsty ground. 

The farmer Iiastens with his load 

Of fragrant new-mown hay 
Toward his barn's wide open door— 

A safe retreat alway; 
The children standing on the mead 

Have ceased their merry song. 
And gaze, half scared, upon the storm 

That slowly moves along. 

The vanguard of the inky clouds 

Is passing overhead; 
The storm king's marshaling forces fill 

The fearfu.1 heart with dread. 
So grand, so awful Nature's mood 

And wonderful the form 
In which to us she shows herself 

Before, the thunder-storm! 

C. W. Natlor. 



THE PETRIFIED FERN. 

In a valley, centuries ago. 

Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slendor, 

Veining delicate and fibers tender, 
Waving wlien tlie wind crept down so low; 

Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew 
round it. 

Playful sunbeams darted in and found it. 

Drops of dew stole down by night and 
crowned it. 
But no foot of man e'er came that wa> — 
Earth was young and keeping holiday. 
Monster fishes swam the silent main, 

Stately forests waved their giant 
branches, 

Mountains hurled tlieir snowy avalanches. 



Mammoth creatures stalked across the 
plain; 
Nature reveled in grand mysteries; 
But the little fern was not of these. 
Did not number with the hills and trees, 

Only grew and waved its sweet wild way; 

No one came to note it day by day. 

Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood. 
Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty 

motion 
Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean; 
Moved the plain and shook the haughty 
wood. 
Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay. 
Covered it and hid it safe away. 
Oh, the long, long centuries since that 
day! 
Oh, the changes! Oh, life's bitter cost! 
Since the useless little fern was lost! 

Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful 
man. 
Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep; 
From a fissure in a rcoky steep 

He withdrew a stone o'er which there ran 
Fairy pencilings, a quaint design. 
Leafage, veining, fibers, clear and fine. 
And the fern's life lay in every line. 

So, I think, God hides some souls away, 

Sweetly to surprise us the last day! 

Mary Bolles Branch. 



NATURE. 

Rippling brook and flowing stream 
In the sparkling sunlight gleam. 
Making merry faces beam 

With their gladsome story; 
Soft their music floats away. 
Where the evening zephyrs play, 
Where the siren singers stay 

In their verdant glory. 

See blest virgin Nature smile. 
In her queenly robes the while; 
Man of earth she would beguile 

With her flowing tresses. 
Bright her face with blooming flowers, 
Sweet tlie odor from lier bowers. 
Fresh her sparkling April showers, 

Mid her warm caresses. 

Hills and valleys robed in green. 
Winding rivers flow between. 
There the rustic rocks are seen 

Where tlie water splashes' 
On the rising silvery spray. 
Rainbow colors seem to play. 
Painted by the orb of day. 

In the sunlight flashes. 

Soft the kisses of her lips. 
Sweet the honeydew she sips. 
From her hand of mercy drips 

Rvery single blessin.g. 
With her arms embracing me, 
I am safe as I can be, 
Wlien I come on bended knee. 

Nature's God confessing. 

B. E. Wabbhn. 



NATURE POEMS. 



119 



MOUNT HOOD. 

Crown or" the Cascade mountain range, 

Imperial Hood, I sing of tliee — 
Of the vast presence, weird and strange, 
That neither time nor storms can change — 
Of thy sublimity! 

Robed like the Great White Throne of God, 

In awful grandeur thou dost rise 
Above Columbia's fretful flood, 
Above a wild, mysterious wood. 
To pierce the vaulted skies. 

The song-birds carol from the trees. 

Tile tender flowers in beauty bloom, 
Wlien softly tempered, balmy breeze 
Comes from the far-off western seas. 
Dispelling all thy gloom. 

In lonely forests, far below, 

The timid deer sports day by day, 

■UOiere raging torrents ceaseless flow. 

Fed by everlasting snow. 

And peace doth reign alway. 

Above the clouds the snowy crest 

Receives the first kiss of the sun, 
The last kiss ere it sinks to rest 
On broad Pacific's heaving breast. 
As days pass one by one. 

Bathed by the full moon's pale, soft light, 

I've seen thee oft and bowed before 
Thy majesty, and in God's sight 
Have watched full many a pleasant night 
To worship and adore. 

Thy grandeur prompts the soul to praise 

Our Maker's works in sacred song. 
And tells the wonders of his ways 
Through silent nights and glowing days 
Until our hearts are strong. 

And faith, which erst was growing weak, 

Takes courage, and our spirits feel 
That power that made thy mountain peak. 
That makes all nature plainly speak, 
Will truth to us reveal — 

Will all reveal in after-time. 

And what is so mysterious here — 

So wonderful and so sublime. 

In every age, in every clime — 
Will plain to us appear. 

WTien storm-clouds sweep adown thy base. 

Thou standest like a sentinel, 
Immovable, with scarce a trace 
Of change upon thy pallid face. 

To tell us all is well. 

And when the hours of calm have come. 

And sunbeams shed their garish light. 
The same sublime, heaven-pointing dome, 
Where solitude hath fixed its home. 
Awaits our mortal sight. 

Unchanging ever, ever grand! 

O lofty mount! majestic Hood! 
As thou didst leave thy Maker's hand. 



In all thy glory thou shalt stand — 
He hath pronounced thee good! 

Edwabd Shbffibld. 



THE WINDS. 

Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air. 

Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; 
re bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the 

hair 
O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher 

glow; 
Ye rolled the round white clouds through 

depths of blue; 
Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering 

dew; 
Before you the catalpa blossoms flew — 
Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like 

snow. 

How are ye changed! Ye take the cata- 
ract's sound; 
Y'e take the whirlpool's fury and its might; 
The mountain shudders as ye sweep the 
ground; 
The valley woods lie prone beneath your 
flight; 
The clouds before you shoot like eagles past; 
The homes of men are rocking in your blast; 
Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and 
cast. 
Skyward, the whirling fragments out of 
sight. 

The weary fowls of heaven make wing in 
vain 
To escape your wrath; ye seize and dash 
them dead. 
Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain; 

The harvest-field becomes a river's bed. 
And torrents tumble from the hills around; 
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are 

drowned. 
And wailing voices, mid the tempest's sound. 
Rise, as the rushing waters swell and 
spread. 

Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard 
A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and 
pray; 
Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird 
Flings o'er his shivering plumes the foun- 
tain's spray. - 
See! to the breaking mast the sailor clings; 
Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs, 
And take the mountain billow on your 
wings. 
And pile the wreck of navies round the 
bay. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



NIGHTFALL. 

Alone I stand; 

On either hand 
In gathering gloom stretch sea and land; 

Beneath my feet. 

With ceaseless beat. 
The waters murmur low and sweet. 



120 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Slow falls the night; 

The tender light 
Of stars grows brighter and more bright; 

The lingering ray 

Of dying day 
Sinks deeper down and fades away. 

Now fast, now slow, 
The south winds blow. 

And softly whisper, breathing low; 
With gentle grace 
Tliey kiss my face 

Or fold me in their cool embrace. 

Where one pale star, 

O'er waters far, 
Droops down to touch the harbor-bar, 

A faint light gleams, 

A light that seems 
To grow and grow till nature teems 

With mellow haze; 

And to ray gaze 
Comes proudly rising, with its rays 

No longer dim, 

The moon; its rim 
In splendor gilds the billowy brim. 

I watch it gain 
The heavenly plain; 

Behind it trails a starry train^ 

While low and sweet 
The wavelets beat 

Their murmuring music at ray feet. 

Fair night of June! 

Ton silver moon 
Gleams pale and still. The tender tune, 

Faint-floating, plays, 

In moonlit lays, 
A melody of other days. 

'Tls sacred ground; 

A peace profound 
Comes o'er my soul. I hear no sound. 

Save at my feet 

The ceaseless beat 
Of waters murmuring low and sweet. 

W. W. Ellsworth. 



YOSEMITE. 

With humbled heart, subdued and awed I 

look on thee. 
Thou time-defying granite pile; with senses 

rapt 
I see thee, grand and world-renowned To- 

semite — 
Thy spray-enwreathing stream. 
Thy rock-walled vale and sunset clouds, all 

glory capped 
With evanescent gleam. 

Aye, see, and wondering: gaze, until the cen- 
turies swing 

Their massive doors ajar and glimpses give 
when earth was young; 

But farthest grasp of human thought but 
weakling reasons bring 
To solve thy problem vast; 



In vain we ask the voiceless silences tliat 
hung 
Their mysteries o'er the past — 

The far, dim past, that wrapped our sphere 
in shoreless sea; 

The mantling gloom, that swathed its in- 
fancy in mist. 

While yet the sun did wait Omnipotent de- 
cree 
To bless the world with light. 

Ere day's first smiling morn, with rosy 
beams had kissed 
Away the brooding night. 

What engine wrought in Nature's great 

completing plan 
To ope for thee thy chasms broad, abysmal 

deep? 
Was it the glacier's ponderous plow, that 

smoothed for man 
The verdant fertile plain. 
Or, rolling waters, that through circling 

eons wore thy steeps 
With solemn, sad refrain? 

Or, from earth's central fires, did fierce vol- 
canic throes 

Expel, in molten mass, the elemental rock. 

That o'er the wilds to mountain majesty 
arose. 
And while yet warm with throbbing 
strain. 

Did earthquake rend with pole-disturbing 
shock 
Thy mighty walls amain? 

O puny mind, be still and catch the chant 

sublime 
Of Nature's psalm, that here is poured in 

never-ending praise; 
Accept the truth, that God by his right 

hand did raise 
These templed rocks, to stand through an 
eternity of time. 
An altar place of worship, where 
All nations come and every heart an of- 
fering lays 
Of mingled praise and prayer. 

MBS. Jdlu 0. Aldrich. 



SUNBEAMS. 

The sun's bright, merry beams. 

With sparkle, dance, and gleams. 
Send love and cheer 
Through all the year 

To busy, weary hearts 

Oft pressed by piercing darts. 

They pass through open door. 

Through crack and crevice pour. 
And rest a while. 
With their sweet smile, 

Then gently, as In play. 

Creep slowly far away. 

They speak in voiceless song, 
And bid our hearts be strong, 

As through the day 

They kindly stay 



NATURE POEMS— Sea Pictures. 



121 



Ere night unfolds her wings. 
And mournful requiems sings. 

Their touch all gloom dispels. 

And to us tidings tells 
Of peace and hope 
When shadows grope 

That would our spirits pain 

With their remorseless chain. 

These pleasant little rays 
Spread out in sheets and sprays 

O'er all the earth 

With untold worth; 
And oft, in guileless sport. 
Sweet childhood's favor court. 

On old and youthful brow 
They rest, and seem to bow 

As down they fall 

On great and small, 
And with caress and kiss 
Fill life with joy and bliss. 

Dear gliding, sunny streams, 
We love your elfin beams 

That to us come, 

Where'er we roam, 
With messages of love 
From Father's hand above. 

Tour tones are silent, sweet. 
Tour footsteps light and fleet; 



But we may hear 

Tour presence near 
As down through space you flow 
To bless the earth below. 

There're hearts whose smiles all bright 
To shadowed lives bring light. 
Chase gloom and fear 
And sorrow's tear 
Far from their souls away. 
And flood with hope's glad ray. 

We think of Him, and bless 
The Sun of Righteousness, 

Who healing brings 

In his soft wings; 
Enfolds with songs at night, 
Of peace and love and light. 

The sun that rules the day 
And lights our earthly way 

Is type of Him 

■Who shines within 
And leads us to our home 
Before his Father's throne. 

■With zeal and love intense. 
Like Him, may we dispense 

The good we know. 

And others show 
The light and truth He's giv'n 
To guide the way to heav'n. 

Anna K. Thomas. 



SEA PICTURES 



A DAY BY THE SEA. 

Bright glow the portals of the east 

With every rich and glorious dye; 
The blue waves, in the morning beam. 

Lift up their heads rejoicingly; 
And as they break upon the shore. 

Their murmur seems a lofty hymn. 
Rising, and mingling with the strain 

Sung by adoring seraphim. 

White sails departing from the land 

Seem like the wings of some sweet dove. 
Bearing away to distant climes 

The cheering words of faithful love. 
The fisher to his daily toil 

Speeds swiftly, with a bending oar. 
Oft looking backward to the band 

■vniich throngs his humble cottage-door. 
Rejoicing in his freedom now, 

The eagle sails far out to sea, 
Wliere his shrill scream is heard above 

The swelling waves' wild melody. 
By wave, and shore, all things are bright. 

When morning's purest, earliest glow. 
Bathing the heavens in rainbow hues. 

Falls on the waiting world below. 

'Tis noon. The waves, long wakened now. 
Are lifting their white crests on high. 

And on the far horizon's verge 

They seem to mingle with the sky. 

And oh! it is a solemn joy 
To listen to their sullen roar, 

And seem them, like a white-plumed band 



Of warrior's rushing to the shore; 
But never yet did mail-clad band 

With such a fierce, resistless sweep 
Rush on the foe, as rush to land 

Those crested warriors of the deep. 
Vessels, with snowy canvas filled. 

Are swiftly dashing through the foam; 

Yet careless as those birds which make 

The billow, wild and free, their home. 
Full oft, amid the waters bright. 

Are seen the dolphin's varied dyes. 
And, to elude his swift pursuit. 

Aloft the silver mullet flies. 
The sea-gull rides upon the wave. 

As fearless on its foaming crest 
As land-birds, at the day's decline, 

Sit brooding o'er the mossy nest. 
And in his course, the God of day 

Beholds no scene so fresh and free 
As that which meets his burning gaze 

At noon, beside the chainless sea. 
'Tis evening, — and the crested waves 

Are softly sinking to their rest. 
As infancy, when day is done. 

Sinks gently on its mother's breast. 
For morn the tranqudl waters woke; 

Noon saw them flashing, wild and high; 
But eve the gentle south wind brought. 

To soothe them with its lullaby. 
Bright is the wave, bright is the shore. 

And brighter seems yon far-off isle; 
For all above, beneath, around. 

Glows in the sun's departing smile- 
Returning slowly to the land. 



122 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



The snowy pelican is seen; 
And soon slie folds her weary wing, 

Where her loved nest the rushes screen. 
The fisher's song steals o'er the wave, 

Now gently chiming with his oar, 
Until the strain is broken by 

Sweet voices hailing from the shore- 
Clouds, floating in the firmament. 

Unbroken 'neath the waters lie. 
And as the quiet stars come forth, 

They seem to find another sky; 
For mirrored in the placid tide 

Their glories undimished glow. 
Sparkling, as if the stars above 

Were speaking to the stars below. 
In unveiled splendor then the moon 

Sheds o'er the sea her mellow light; 
And never lovelier scene than this 

Can fall upon our mortal sight. 
The dawn is glorious, when the sun 

Bursts forth in grandeur o'er the sea, 
And many charms hath glowing noon; 

But evening by the wave for me. 

William Baxter. 



THE SEA IN CALM. 

Look what immortal floods the sunset pours 

Upon us! Mark how still (as though in 
dreams 

Bound) the once wild and terrible ocean 
seems! 

How silent are the winds! no billow roars; 

But all is tranquil as Elysian shores 

The silver margin which aye runneth round 

The moon-enchanted sea hath here no sound; 

Even Echo speaks not on these radiant 
moors. 

What! is the giant of the ocean dead, 

■Whose strength was all unmatched be- 
neath the sun? 

No; he reposes. Now his toils are done; 

More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. 

So mightiest powers by deepest calms are 
fed. 

And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest 
be! 

Bryan Waller Procter. 



THE STORMY PETREL. 

A thousand miles from land are we. 
Tossing about on the stormy sea. 
From billow to bounding billow cast. 
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast. 
The sails are scattered abroad like weeds; 
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds; 
The mighty cables and iron chains. 
The hull, which all earthly strength dis- 
dains, — 
They strain and they crack; and hearts like 

stone 
Their natural, hard, proud strength disown. 
Up and down! up and down! 
From the base of the wave to the billow's 

crown. 
And amidst the flashing and feathery foam 
The stormy petrel finds a home. — 



A home, if such a place may be 

For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, 

On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, 

And only seeketh her rocky lair 

To warm her young, and to teach them to 

spring 
At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing. 

O'er the deep! o'er the deep! 

Where the whale and the shark and the 

sword-fish sleep. — 
Outflying the blast and the driving rain, 
The petrel telleth her tale — in vain; 
For the mariner curseth the warning bird 
Which bringeth him news of the storm 

unheard! 
Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill 
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth 

still, 
Tet he ne'er falters; so, petrel, spring 
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy 

wing! 

Brtan Waller Procter. 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 

Break, break, break. 

On thy cold, gray stones. O sea! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

Oh, well for the fisherman's boy 

That he shouts with his sister at play! 

Oh, well for the sailor lad 

That he sings in his boat on the bay! 

And the stately ships go on 

To the haven under the hill; 
But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand. 

And the sound of a voice that is still! 

Break, break, break. 

At the foot of thy crags, O sea! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

WSll never come back to me. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



WIND AND SEA. 

The Sea is a jovial comrade; 

He laughs wherever he goes. 
His merriment shines in the dimpling lines 

That wrinkle his hale repose; 
He lays himself down at the feet of the 
Sun, 

And shakes all over with glee, 
And the broad-backed billows fall faint on 
the shore, 

In the mirth of the mighty Sea. 

But the Wind is sad a^d restless. 

And cursed with an inward pain; 
You may hark as you will, by valley or hill. 

But you hear him still complain. 
He wails on the barren mountains. 

And shrieks on the wintry sea; 
He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine. 

And shudders all over the aspen-tree. 



NATURE POEMS— Sea Pictures. 



123 



Welcome are both their voices, 

And I know not which is best — 
The laugliter tliat slips from the Ocean's 
lips. 
Or the comfortless Wind's unrest. 
There's a pang: in all rejoicing, 

A joy in the heart of pain. 
And the Wind that saddens, the Sea that 
gladdens. 
Are singing the selfsame strain! 

Bayard Taylor. 



THE SOUND OF THE SEA. 

The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep. 
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide 
I heard the first wave of the rising tide 
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep; 
A voice out of the silence of the deep, 
A sound mysteriously multiplied 
As of a cataract from the mountain's side, 
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep. 
So comes to us at times, from the unknown 
And inaccessible solitudes of being, 
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul; 
And inspirations, that we deem our own, 
Are some divine foreshadowing and fore- 
seeing 
Of things beyond our reason or control. 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 

[This poem was suggested by looking at a section 
of one of those chambered shells called the Pearly 
Nautllns. 1 
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 

Sails the unshadowed main — 

The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind Its purpled 

wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings. 

And coral reefs lie bare, 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their 
streaming hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; 
Wrecked is the ship of pearl! 
And every chambered cell. 
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to 

dwell. 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, 

Before thee lies revealed, 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt 
unsealed! 

Tear after year beheld the silent toil 
That spread his lustrous coil; 
Still, as the spiral grew. 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new. 
Stole with soft step its shining archway 
through, 
Built up its idle door, 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew 
the old no more. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought 
by thee. 
Child of the wandering sea. 



Cast from her lap, forlorn! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! 

Wvhile on mine ear it rings. 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear 
a voice that sings: 

"Build thee more stately mansions, O my 
soul. 
As the swift seasons roll! 
Leave thy low-vaulted past! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more 
vast, 
Till thou at length art free. 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's un- 
resting sea!" 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



SUNSET ON PUGET SOUND. 

Broad wave on wave of scarlet flecked with 

gold. 

Outstretched beneath an opalescent sky. 

Wherein pale tints with glowing colors 

vie; 

From their birthplace within the sea are 

rolled 
Sweet perfumes by the sea-breeze strong 
and cold. 
Here white sails gleam and soft cloud- 
shadows lie. 
And isles are kissed by winds that wanton 

by, 
Or rocked by gales in unchecked passion 
bold. 
Locked in by swelling, fir-clad hills it 
lies — 
One stretch of purpling, heavy gold; serene. 
It laughs and dimples under sunset skies. 
Toward which the chaste Olympics, snow- 
girt, lean, 
And, bathing in that flood of glory, make 
Fit setting for that burnished ocean-lake. 
Ella Higginson. 



TO THE OCEAN. 

ocean, vast, extended, great, 

1 love thy charms to contemplate, 
Thy wonders to behold. 

How like thee is humanity! 
For in thine every state I see 
Emblems of life unfold. 

When storm-winds beat upon thy breast, 
How like the multitude's unrest 

Thy rolling waves appear! 
As when some long-enduring wrong 
To frenzy drives the gathered throng. 

And tyrants shake with fear. 
And when against the living rock 
Thy waves rush on with thunder-shock. 

Resounding far and near. 
How like the passions of mankind 
Omnipotence alone can bind. 

Thy wrathful force appears! 



124 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



When peace and calm o'ersin-ead thy breast, 
How like the Christian's inward rest, 

So gentle and serene — 
A joyous quiet undisturbed. 
No sound of strife or evil heard. 

And Christ in all is seen! 

And as thy tides which rise and fall, 
Obedient to Attraction's call. 

So too the ransomed soul 
The calling of the Spirit heeds, 
And in its words and thoughts and deeds. 

Yields to its Lord's control. 

0. W. Natloh. 



GEMS. 



■WTiere the ocean's waves are dashing 

On the far-off Indian shore; 
Where the coral rocks are flashing 

Mid the waters' rush and roar; 
Where the sands are heaped and gathered 

By the strong and sweeping tide. 
And the billows, capped and feathered. 

On their prancing air steeds ride; 
WTiere wild mountain ledges, frowning, 

High their granite faces lift; 
And where rivers Oriental 

Mid their palmy islands drift, — 
There the gems of earth are gleaming, 

Diamonds flash and rubies shine; 
Pearls of light are softly beaming 

Down the dark and foaming brine. 

Mary E. Howe, 



THE BEACON. 

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye 
Than if day in its pride had arrayed It. 

The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure- 
arched sky 
Looked pure as the spirit that made it. 

The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed 
On the shadowy waves' playful motion, 

From the dim distant isle till the bea- 
con-fire blazed 
Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast 
Was heard in his wildly-breathed num- 
bers; 
The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled 
nest, 
Tlie fisherman sunk to his slumbers. 

I sighed as I looked from the hill's gentle 
slope; 
All hushed was the billow's commotion; 
And I thought that the beacon looked lovely 
as Hope, 
That star of life's tremulous ocean. 

The time is long past, and the scene is afar, 
Yet wlien my head rests on its pillow, 

W^ll memory sometimes rekindle the star, 
That blazed on the breast of the billow. 



In life's closing liour, when the trembling 
soul flies. 
And death stills the heart's last emotion. 
Oh, then may the seraph of mercy arise 
Like a star on eternity's ocean. 

Thomas Moobb. 



DESCRIPTION OF A STORM AT SEA. 

The evening winds shrieked wildly; the 

dark cloud 
Rested upon the horizon's hem, and grow 
Mightier and mightier, flinging its black 

arch 
Around the troubled offing, till it grasped 
Within its terrible embrace, the all 
That eye could see of ocean. There arose. 
Forth from the infinite of waters, sounds. 
Confused, appalling; from the dread lee 

shore 
There came a heavier swell, a lengthened 

roar. 
Bach moment deeper, rolling on the ear 
With most portentous voice. Rock howled 

to rock, 
Headland to headland, as the Atlantic flung 
Its billows shoreward; and the feathery foam 
Of twice ten thousand broken surges, sailed 
High o'er the dim-seen land. The startled 

gull. 
With scream prophetic, sought his savage 

cliff. 
And e'en the bird that loves to sail between 
The ridges of the sea, with hurried wing. 
Flew from the blast's fierce onset. One — 

far oft — 
One hapless sliip was seen upon the deep, 
Breasting the western waters. Nothing lived 
Aroimd her; all was desert; for the storm 
Had made old ocean's realm a solitude, 
WTiere man might fear to roam. And tliere 

she sat, 
A lonely thing amid the gathering strife, 
With pinions folded — not for rest — prepared 
To struggle with the tempest. And it came, 
As night abruptly closed. Nor moon nor star 
Looked from the sky, but darkness deep as 

that 
Which reigned over primeval chaos, wrapped 
That fated bark, save when the lightning 

hissed 
Along the bursting billow. Ocean howled 
To the high tliunder, and the thunder spoke 
To the rebellious ocean, with a voice 
So terrible that all the rush and roar 
Of waves were but as the meek lapse of 

rills. 
To that deep, everlasting peal, which comes 
From thee, Niagara, wild flinging o'er 
Thy steep the waters of a world. Anon 
The lightnings glared more fiercly, burning 

round 
The glowing offing with unwonted stay, 
As if they lingered o'er the dark abyss. 
And raised its veil of horror, but to show 
Its wild and tortured face. And tlien the 

winds 
Held oft a momentary pause. 
As spent with their own fury ; but they came 



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m 



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NATURE POEMS-^ea Pictures. 



125 



Again with added power; with shriek and 

cry. 
Almost unearthly, as if on their wings, 
Passed by the spirit of the storm. They 

heard. 
Who rode the midnight mountain-wave; the 

voice 
Of death was in that cry unearthly. Oft, 
In the red battle had they seen him stride 
The glowing deck, scattering his burning 

hail. 
And breathing liquid flame, until the winds. 
The very winds grew faint, and on the waves 
Rested the columned smokes; but on that 

night 
He came with tenfold terrors; with a power 
That shook at once heaven, earth; his min- 
isters 
Of vengeance round him, the great wind, 

the .sea, 
The thunder, and the fatal flash! Alas! 
Day dawned not on the mariner; ere morn. 
The lightning lit the seaman to his grave. 
And the fierce sea-dog feasted on the dead! 



ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 

O thou vast Ocean! ever-sounding Sea! 

Thou symbol of a drear immensity! 

Thou thing that windest round the solid 

world 
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled 
From the black clouds, lies weltering and 

alone. 
Lashing and writhing till its strength be 

gone! 
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep 
Is as a giant's slumber — loud and deep. 
Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast 
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have 

no life 
Or motion, yet are moved and meet in strife. 
The earth has naught of tliis; no chance or 

ch ange 
RufHes its surface, and no spirits dare 
Give answer to the tempest- wakened air; 
But o'er its wastes tlie weakly tenants range 
At will, and wound its bosom as they go. 
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow; 
But in their stated rounds the seasons 

come. 
And pass like visions to their wonted home. 
And come again, and vanish. The young 

Spring 
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossom- 
ing; 
And Winter always winds his sullen horn. 
When the wild Autumn, with a look forlorn. 
Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies 
Weep, and flowers sicken, when the sum- 
mer flies. 
O wonderful thou art, great element, 
And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent. 
And lovely in repose! Thy summer form 
Is beautiful; and when thy silver waves 
Make music in earth's dark and winding 
caves. 



I love to wander on thy pebbled beach. 
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour. 
And barken to the thoughts thy waters 

teach — 
Eternity — Eternity — and Power. 

BARRt Cornwall. 



THE OCEAN. 

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place. 
With one fair spirit for my minister. 
That I might all forget the human race, 
And, hating no one, love but only her! 
Te elements! in whose ennobling stir 
I feel myself exalted, can ye not 
Accord me such a being? Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot? 
Though with them to converse can rarely 
be our lot. 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore; 
There is society, where none intrudes. 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 
I love not man the less, but nature more. 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before. 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
Wliat I can ne'er express, yet can not all 
conceal. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, 

roll! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 
Man marks the earth with ruin; his control 
Stops with the shore: upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth re- 
main 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. 
When for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling 

groan. 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and 
unknown. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the 

walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviatlians, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — 
These are thy toys, and as the snowy flake. 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which 

mar 
Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Traf- 
algar. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all 

save thee: 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are 

they? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were 

free, 
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou, 
LTnchangeable save to thy wild waves' play; 



126 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow; 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou roU- 
est now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's 

form 
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, 
Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or 

storm. 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark heaving; boundless, endless, and sub- 
lime; 
The image of eternity; the throne 
Of the Invisible: even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made; each 

zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fath- 
omless, alone. 

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a 

boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers; they to me 
Were a delight; and, if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear. 
For I was as it were a child of thee. 
And trusted to thy billows far and near. 
And laid my hand upon thy mane, as I do 

here. 

LoBD Byron. 



LOST BIRD ON SHIPBOARD. 

Lone rover of the pathless deep. 

And blank abyss of gloom; 
A hundred weary leagues and more 
From native tree and Moorish shore 
And thy forgotten home. 

Thy weary wing a silent throb 

In vast and upper void. 
Under the watch-fire of the star. 



Where sentinels of worlds afar 
In camps of space abide. 

And like a crimsoned autumn leaf 

Torn from its parent tree, 
So drifting from the higher air. 
Thy wings of color rich and rare 

Droop on the purple sea. 

By snowy sail and lofty spar 

And woof of salty rope. 
Thy failing strength upon the deep 
A heaven finds for rest and sleep, 

A refuge and a hope. 

Thy cradle-nest is far away, 
O weary bird! Why here? 
The music of thy natal song. 
Not written on the waves that throng 
In channels of the sphere. 

Not mine to know, or thine to tell. 
Enough! Thou hast a rest. 

So in my jacket safely stay 

From midnight watch to break of day. 
And nestle in my breast. 

For in thy mute exhausted life 

Unspoken trutli for me, 
A note unheard but written plain. 
In human soul to voice again 

The angel dumb in thee — ■ 

Of care divine — that never sleeps 

In watching o'er its own; 
For souls of men, where'er they stray, 
Have in the darkness of their way 

A resting-place and home. 

In trouble, doubt, and haunting fear 

Of sorrow's starless sea, 
O brother! lost in storm or gloom, 
God keeps amid the wrecks of doom 

An ark that waits for thee. 

Fkdd Woodbow. 



MONTHS AND SEASONS 



JUST A MENTION OF THE 
SEASONS. 

SPRING. 

Is this a time to be gloomy and sad, 

Wlien our mother Nature laughs around, 

When even the deep blue heavens look glad. 
And gladness breathes from the blossom- 
ing ground? 

The clouds are at play in the azure space. 
And their shadows at play on the bright 
green vale; 

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
And there they roll on the easy gale. 

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he 
smiles 

On the dewy earth that smiles on his ray. 
On the leaping waters and gay young isles; 

> ye, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 



SUMMER. 

When summer comes in radiant dress, 

And sunshine floods the land. 

And blossoms, buds, and butterflies 

Are seen on every hand. 
It's quite beyond disputing 

That, far more than the rest — 
The winter, spring, and autumn — 

I love sweet summer best. 

AUTUMN. 

There's music in the air, 

Soft as the bee's low hum; 
There's music in the air, 

■^Tien the autumn days are come. 
Fairies sweet, your songs we hear; 

At times you're sad, then full of cheer. 
Come out! come out! we know you're near. 

By the music in the air. 



NATURE POEMS— Months and Seasons. 



127 



WINTER. 

Old Winter comes forth in his robe of wliite; 

He sends the swee't flowers far out of sight; 

He robs the trees of their green leaves 

bright; 

He freezes the pond and river. 

We like the spring with its fine fresh air; 
We like the summer with flowers so fair; 
We like the fruits we in autumn share: 
And we like, too, old Winter's greeting. 



THE SEASONS. 

SPRIXQ. 
I arose one morn, and from my door 

Saw the world all dressed in green; 
And I knew in her robe of emerald hue 

Small amethysts could be seen. 
'Twas like a dream of my childhood hours. 

This happy growing-time, 
That spoke the poetry of youth. 

When life itself was rhyme. 

SUMMER. 
I arose one morn, and beheld the hills 

All clad in gorgeous robes 
Of scarlet and saffron, of purple and gold. 

And jewels of circles and globes. 
'Twas like a dream of more joyful days. 

When life seemed a vision rare. 
And I thought no earthly blessedness 

Could with my own compare. 

AUTUMN. 
I arose one morn, and lo! the hills 

Again had changed attire; 
The mantle, brown, bore scarlet gems 

In lustre most entire. 
A vision 'twas of labor done, 

Of tasks now at an end; 
Ambitions, hopes, now realized. 

Their joys or sorrows send. 

WINTER. 
I arose one morn, from my window looked. 

And the world was white and still. 
No lay of plumed songsters heard. 

Of robin or whippoorwill; 
But, oh! it was like a dream of peace. 

This winding-sheet of white — 
The still world told of a sweet repose. 

The end of a stormy night. 

God help us in our struggle here. 

Give us to see the reasons 
For all our cares; and wisdom grant 

To gladly take life's seasons. 

G. D. Babbett. 



MARCH WINDS. 

The balmy scent of spring is on the breeze; 
'Tis not the scent of flowers, they bloom 
not yet; 
'Tis not the early blossoming of trees, 
Their tiny leaf-btids are not more than 
set; 



I know not whence the breathing fragrance 
flows, 
Wliich comes upon the first warm breath 
of spring. 
Long ere the violet or early rose 

Unfold their sweets to woo the zephyr's 
wing; 
Mayhap it cometh from the dark-brown 
earth 
Where sleeps the loveliness of summer 
hours. 
And the young winds have in their early 
mirth 
Stirred up the odors of the perished 
flowers. 

1 know not, and it matters not to know, 
The secret of the March wind's balmy 
breath ; 
I love it better that its murmurs low 
Are waked in scenes which wear the hue 
of death — - 
The mourning hue which chilly autumn 
gave — ■ 
It sounds like music breathed above the 
tomb, 
^Tiose soft notes tell of hope beyond the 
grave, 
As March winds herald April's coming 
bloom. 

Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford. 



SPRING. 

Again the violet of our early days 

Drinks beauteous azure from the golden 
sun. 
And kindles into fragrance at his blaze; 
The streams, rejoiced that winter's work 
is done, 
Talk of tomorrow's cowslips, as they run. 
Wild apple, thou art blushing into bloom! 
Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed 
thorn! 
Wake, buried lily! spirit, quit thy tomb! 
And thou shade-loving hyacinth, be born! 
Then, haste, sweet rose! sweet woodbine, 
hymn the morn, 
Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly 
light 
Each grassy blade that thick embattled 
stands 
From sea to sea, while daisies infinite 
Uplift in praise their little glowing hands 
O'er every hill that under heaven expands. 
Ebenezer Elliott. 



SPRING. 

Behold the robin's breast aglow 

As on the lawn he seeks his game; 

His cap a darker hue doth show. 
His bill a yellow flame. 

In sunny woods the mold makes room 
For living leaf to ope her ej'es; 

A tiny firmament of bloom 

With stars upon a mimic sky. 



128 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Up from the marsh a chorus shrill 
Of piping- frogs swells in the night; 

The meadow-lark shows flashing quill 
As o'er brown fields she takes her flight. 

Now screaming hawks soar o'er the wood, 
And sparrows red hunt busy banks; 

The starlings gossip, "Life is good," 
And crackles pass in sable ranks. 

The rye-fields show a tender hue 
Of fresh'ning green amid the brown, 

And pussy-willows clad anew 
Along the brook in silver gown. 

The purple finch has found his tongue — 
Prom out the elm-tree what a burst! 

Now once again all things are young. 
Renewed by love as at the first. 

John Burroughs. 



MARCH. 

The stormy March is come at last. 

With wind and cloud and changing skies; 

I hear the rushing of the blast 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah! passing few are they who speak. 
Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee; 

Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou to northern lands again. 

The glad and glorious sun dost bring. 

And thou hast joined the gentle train. 
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And, in thy reign of blast and storm. 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 

W^en the changed winds are soft and warm. 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills 

And the full springs, from frost set free. 

That, brightly leaping down the hills. 
Are just set out to meet the sea. 

The year's departing beauty hides 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat; 

But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies 
And that soft time of sunny sliowers. 

When the wide bloom, on earth that lies. 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 
William Cullen Bryant. 



SPRING. 

She comes! she comes! the gentle spring 

With all her princely train! 
Her magic wands choice blessings bring 

Back to our hearts again. 

She comes! she comes! the gentle spring! 
Her swift approach we hear. 



And see her bright new life begin. 
Her graceful form appear. 

Her silv'ry voices, low and sweet, 

Enchant the heart and ear; 
In ev'ry nook her charms we meet, 

Her fragrant breath wafts near. 

We feel the touch of her kind hand. 

Her kisses pure and soft; 
Slie spreads her emerald robes o'er land 

Her tresses hang aloft. 

Oh, welcome! welcome, lovely spring! 

Thy tender smile we greet. 
Ten thousand bounties here you bring. 

And lay them at our feet! 

On ev'ry living shrub and tree 
Tou fling your verdure down; 

These, fondly draped, yield back to thee. 
Bequeathing thee a crown. 

Thou'rt lithe and beautiful and fair. 
The year's glad queen and good. 

Bedecked witli glories, rich and rare 
Thy blushing maidenhood. 

Thy Maker calls thee forth at will 
Away from southern haunts. 

And bids thee his good pleasure fill; 
His laws on thee he plants. 

O Spring-tide! child of peace and love. 

From Father's bosom sent, 
We drink thy joys drawn from above. 

And breathe thy life thus lent. 

Anna K. Thomas. 



BEAUTIFUL SPRING. 

Ah, gentle spring, thy balmy breeze. 

New chanting mid the budding trees, 

A glorious resurrection sings! 

And on thy soft, etiiereal wings 

Sweet nectar from ten thousand flowers. 

That bloom in nature's happy bowers. 

Thou dost as holy incense bring 

To Him who sheds the beams of spring. 

Far in the South thy bloom appeared. 
And all our journey homeward cheered; 
A thousand miles in sweet embrace. 
We northward held an even race; 
Or if by starts we did outrun 
Thy even tenor from the sun. 
Erelong we blessed thy coming tread 
And quaffed the odors thou didst spread. 

O brightest, sweetest of the year! 
Wlien all is vocal with thy cheer. 
Thy lily cups and roses red 
With us some tear-drops also shed. 
The cherry-trees, in shrouds of white. 
Bring back to mind a mournful sight — 
A coffined brother 'neath the bloom, 
Just ere they bore him to the tomb. 

Ah, yes, thou sweet, beguiling spring. 
Of thee my inmost heart would sing. 



NATURE POEMS— Months and Seasons. 



129 



"The time of love, " all bards agree 
To sing- in merry notes to thee. 
Tea, such thou art, and happy they 
Wlio walk in love's delightful day. 
Along the path thy flakes have strewn. 
And know indeed her constant boon. 

But what of him who walks alone. 
With past love fled and turned to stone? 
Shall not the springtide music's roll 
Mock withered joys and sting the soul? 
Not in the heart embalmed in love 
Transported from the worlds above. 
Nor seasons, no, nor else can bring 
Heart-aches where only God is King; 
That soul an endless spring enjoys 
■W'here life the will of God employs. 
He mid the fields of bliss may tread. 
And feast on joys that long have fled. 
By sacred memories' glowing trace 
More than the heart untouched by grace, 
Can drink from full fruition's stream, 
Or paint in fancy's wildest dream. 

O God! thou> art the life of spring. 
The Source of all the seasons bring. 
The soul of all the joys we know. 
The Fountain whence our pleasures flow. 
While nature wakes from winter's sleep. 
And gentle clouds effusive weep. 
We join creation's grateful lays. 
And celebrate our Maker's praise. 

Daniel S. Wabneb. 



MAY TO APRIL. 

Without your showers 

I breed no flowers; 
Each field a barren waste appears; 

If you don't weep, 
My blossoms sleep, 
They take such pleasure in your tears. 

I'HILIP FKENAU. 



MAY 

May, thou month of rosy beauty, 
Month when pleasure is a duty; 
Month of maids that milk the kine, 
Bosom rich, and healtli divine: 
Month of bees and month of flowers. 
Month of blossom-laden bowers; 
Month of little hands with daisies. 
Lovers' love, and poets' praises; 

thou merry month complete. 
May, the very name is sweet! 
May was maid in olden times 
And is still in Scottish rhymes — 
May's the month that's laughing now. 

1 no sooner write the word, 
Than it seems as though it heard, 
And looks up and laughs at me, 
Like a sweet face, rosily, — 
Flushing from the paper's white; 
Like a bride that knows her power. 
Startled in a summer bower. 



If the rains that do us wrong 

Come to keep the winter long 

And deny us thy sweet looks, 

I can love thee, sweet, in books, 

Love thee in the poets' pages. 

Where they keep thee green for ages; 

Love and read thee as a lover 

Reads his lady's letters over. 

Breathed blessings on the art 

Wliich commingles those that part. 

There is May in books forever: 

May will part from Spencer never; 

May's in Milton; May's in Prior; 

May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; 

May's in all the Italian books; 

She has old and modern nooks. 

Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves 

In happy places they call shelves, 

And will rise and dress your rooms 

■\Vith a drapery thick with blooms. 

Come, ye rains, then, if ye will. 
May's at home and w-ith me still; 
But come rather, thou good weather. 
And find us in the fields together. 

Leigh Hunt. 



APRIL. 

'Tis noon of the springtime, yet never a 

bird 
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is 

heard; 
For green meadow-grasses wide levels of 

snow. 
And blowing of drifts where the crocus 

should blow; 
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and 

white, 
On the south-sloping brooksides should 

smile in the light, 
O'er the cold winter-beds of their late- 
waking roots 
The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal 

shoots: 
And longing for light under wind-driven 

heaps, 
Round the boles of the pine-wood the 

ground-laurel creeps, 
Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of 

showers, 
With buds scarcely swelled, which should 

burst into flowers. 
We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the 

south! 
For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss 

of thy mouth; 
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from 

God, 
Resurrection and life to the graves of the 

sod. 
Up our long river-valley, for days, have 

not ceased 
The wail and the shriek of the bitter 

northeast — 
Raw and chill, as if winnowed through 

ices and snow. 
All the way from the land of the wild 

Esquimau — 



130 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Until all our dreams of the land of the 
blest, 

Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny 
southwest. 

O soul of the springtime, its light and its 
breath ! 

Bring- warmth to this coldness, bring life 
to this death; 

Renew the great miracle; let us behold 

The stone from the mouth of the sepulcher 
rolled. 

And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old. 

Let our faith which in darkness and cold- 
ness has lain, 

Eevive with the warmth and the bright- 
ness again. 

And in blooming of flower and budding of 
tree 

The symbols and types of our destiny see; 

The life of the springtime, the life of the 
whole. 

And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to 
the soul. John Gbeenleap Whittiek. 



JUNE. 

[It is remarkable that, as a fulfllment of his wish, 
Br.vant died in the month of June (1878). He was 
buried in the beautiful village cemeter.v at Roslyn. 
Long Island.] 

I gazed upon the glorious sky 
And the green mountains round. 

And thought that when I came to lie 
At rest within the ground, 

'Twere pleasant that in flowery June, 

When brooks send up a cheerful tune. 

And groves a joyous sound, 
-The sexton's hand, my grave to make. 

The rich, green mountain-turf should break. 

A cell within the frozen mold, 

A coffln borne through sleet. 
And icy clods above it rolled, 

WTiile fierce the tempests beat — • 
Away! I will not think of these. 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze. 

Earth green beneath the feet. 
And be the damp mold gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

There through the long, long summer hours. 

The golden light should lie. 
And thick young herbs and groups of 
flowers 

Stand in their beauty by; 
The oriole should build and tell 
His love-tale close beside my cell; 

The idle butterfly 
Should rest him there, and there be heard 
The housewife bee and humming-bird. 

And what if cheerful shouts at noon 

Come, from the village sent. 
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon 

■With fairy laughter blent? 
And what if, in the evening light, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument? 
I would the lovely scene around 
Might know no sadder sight nor sound. 



I know that I no more should see 

The season's glorious show. 
Nor would its brightness shine for me. 

Nor its wild music flow; 
But if, around my place of sleep, 
The friends I love should come to weep. 

They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 

These to their softened hearts should bear 
The thought of what has been. 

And speak of one who can not share 
The gladness of the scene; 

WTiose part, in all the pomp that fills 

The circuit of the summer hills. 
Is that his grave is green; 

And deeply would their hearts rejoice 

To hear again his living voice. 

William Cullen Brtant. 



JUNE. 

And what is so rare as a day in June? 
Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune. 

And over it softly her warm ear lays. 
Wliether we look, or whether we listen. 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within It that reaches and 
towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green. 
The buttercup catches the sun in its cha- 
lice, 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too 

mean 
To be some happy creature's palace; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. 
And late h«is allumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters 

and sings; 
He sings to the wide world and she to her 

nest — 
In the nice ear of nature, which song is the 
best? 

James Russell Lowell. 



SUMMER NIGHT SOUNDS. 

,'Tis sweet to sit. 

Ere the lamps are lit. 
By the vine-wreathed casement, listening 

■^lien the winds are still, 

And the cricket's trill 
Is heard where the dew is glistening: 
"Cheereet, cheereet." 

'Tis a summer night. 
With a moon so bright. 



NATURE POEMS— JMonths and Seasons. 



ISl 



That the fire-fly lamps are pale, 

And all night long, 

Comes a mournful song 
From a lone bird in the vale: 

"Wliippoorwill, whippoorwill." 

In a shady nook. 

By the side of the brook, 
Hid away from the prying moon. 

On a moss-grown log. 

Some love-lorn frog 
Is singing this mellow tune: 

"Ker-chug, ker-chug." 

And a little beyond, 

Just over the pond. 
From a tall tree on the bank. 

Comes faint, but clear 

To my listening ear. 
The song of a feathered crank: 

"Too-whoo, too-whoo." 

Then a gossip unseen. 

In the ivy green, 
Repeats to a drowsy bird 

A scandalous tale 

Of some mortal frail. 
And these are the words I heard: 
"Katydid, katydid." 

And across the way. 
By the bright moon's ray 
A youth and maiden are seen. 
And I hear a repeat 
Of the old words, sweet, 
As the gate swings to. between: 

"Good-night, good-night." 

LoCTsa P. W. PALMrrEB. 



SUMMER TWILIGHT. 

Oh, how I love to steal away 

And spend an hour in silent musing 
Just when the rosy smile of day 

In twilight shades its light is losing! 
For then a pure and holy spell 

On every earthly scene seems dwelling. 
And from each woody hill and dell 

Soft, faint-toned melodies are swelling 

They are not like the gay, glad songs 

Through field and forest daily ringing. 
But pensively they float along, 

Like wearied ones sweet vespers singing. 
And stars come stealing gently forth. 

In dewy brightness calmly beaming. 
And dew-drops thicken o'er the earth 

Like pearls among the dark leaves gleam- 
ing. 

At such an hour my spirit turns 

Away from scenes of mirth and pleasure. 
For in its secret depths it yearns 

For purer joys and richer treasure. 
The twilight hour! the silent prayer 

Of thousands at this hour ascending. 
Like incense on the dewy air, 

With angel-songs is sweetly blending. 
The twilight hour! how mild and calm 



It woos the soul to meek devotion. 
And sheds around a soothing balm 

"Which stills each day-born, wild emotion! 
Mes. M. J. E. Chawtobd. 



SONG OF SUMMER-TIME. 

The fields are bright with the golden grain. 
That waves in the subtile breeze: 

The partridge calls, in his loud refrain. 
To his mate from the apple-trees. 

Sweet and low is the hum of bees. 
And the hujn of the reapers' tune. 

As, one by one, they bind the sheaves 
Beneath the skies of June. 

Deep in the shade of the beechen grove. 
Where the sun and the shadows play; 

The oriole swings with his mated love, 
And blends his tuneful lay. 

Silent and grand, with a lurid glow. 

Behind the hills of the west, 
The chariot of Sol is sinking low, 

And bids the harvester rest. 

J. H. ASBABBANNBB. 



SUMMER EVENING. 

The summer day has closed; the sun is set: 
Well have they done their office, those 

bright hours. 
The latest of whose train goes softly out 
In the red west. The green blade of the 

ground 
Has risen, and herds have cropped it: the 

young twig 
Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; 
Flowers of the garden and the waste have 

blown 
And withered; seeds have fallen upon the 

soil 
From bursting cells, and, in their graves, 

await 
Their resurrection. Insects from the pools 
Have filled the air a while witii humming 

wings, 
That now are stilled forever; painted moths 
Have wandered the blue sky, and died 

again; 
The mother-bird hath broken for her brood 
Their prison shell, or shoved them from 

their nest, 
Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright 

alcoves. 
In woodland cottages with barky walls. 
In noisome cells of the tumultuous town. 
Mothers have clasped with joy the new-' 

born babe: 
Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore 
Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways 
Of the thronged city, have been hollowed 

out. 
And filled, and closed. Tliis day hath 

parted friends 
That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit 



132 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



New friendships; it hatli seen the maiden 

plight 
Her faith, and trust her peace to him who 

long 
Hath wooed; and it hath heard, from lips 

which late 
Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word. 
That told the wedded one her peace was 

flown. 
Farewell to the sweet sunshine! One glad 

day- 
Is added "now to childhood's merry days. 
And one calm day to those of quiet age; 
Still the fleet hours run on; and. as I lean, 
Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit 
By those who watch the dead and those 

who twine 
Flowers for the bride. The mother from 

the eyes 
Of her sick infant shades the painful light, 
And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath. 
William Cdllen Bktant. 



AUGUST. 

The hot still sky is hushed in silent rest; 

No voice of bird. 
A fleecy whiteness wings away to west; 

No leaf is stirred, 
The poplar's silver glistens in the burning 
light: 

The meadow-lands 
Bathed in the still heat of a hot delight; 

The hay-cart stands 
On the white road waiting in the sun. 

A straggling vine 
Stretches across a dell where brown bees 
hum 

And wet weeds shine; 
A locust slips its shrill note in the air; 

The beetles' drone 
Flecks the hushed stillness here and there 

With lazy tone. 

Gai Waters. 



AUTUMN DAYS. 

Still onward through immensity of space 
Our planet speeds, nor wearies in the race, 
Nor tarries once in all her course along; 
But on the arm of gravitation strong. 
She rounds the god to whom the heathen 

prays. 
And sails into our port with autumn days. 
A stately ship! steered by unerring hand 
Through ethereal sea, she brings a cargo 

grand — 
The yearly products of her fertile land. 

To make the tropic clime their transient 
home. 

The pewit and the lark have southward 
flown; 

The fancied chariots of the heated sun 

Now wheel their burden toward the Ama- 
zon; 

On chilly winds from ou.t the northern land 



The frost king rides, and, at his stern 
command. 

Unto the flower is laid the ley sword. 

Death-dealing, like the worm to Jonah's 
gourd; 

The night, the ruling scepter now doth sway. 

And swallows up a portion of the day; 

The season when the sky, with meteor 
scars, 

Displays what literallsts term the "fall- 
ing stars"; 

In northern sky Aurora's flames of fire 

Awaken thoughts of God's avenging ire; 

The zephyrs, breathing fresh and cool at 
eve, 

Man's weary hands and aching heart re- 
lieve. 

Sweet autumn days, so full of cheering- 
themes, 

Enwrapt my soul in many pleasant dreams; 

Heaven has lent to you the power of song. 

To buoy my spirit o'er the raging wrong. 

At eventide when all is hushed, I muse 

And bathe my heart and brow in cooling 
dews. 

And, fanned by odorous breath, I sweetly 
rest, 

■V^^lile amaranthine glories fill my breast. 

Through all my soul a solemn feeling strays 

Inspired by melancholy autumn days; 

No time creates emotions half so deep 

As do the days when Nature seems to weep. 

To pass the golden-rod with drooping head. 

Its color changed from brightest gold to 
lead. 

The maple-leaf from deepest green to red; 

The opening of the chestnut-burr so brown; 

To hear the nuts, through branches fall- 
ing down; 

To wander through the wood where falls 
the leaf — 

All tell to me, mortality is brief. 

A change is wrought by autumn's hand 

unseen; 
The forest and the field give up their green. 
On leaf and blade is placed the golden 

crown. 
And nature all is robed in suit of brown. 
As I, behold her soft and silent tread, 
Numb'ring the grass and flowers among 

the dead. 
In gravest reverence, with uncovered head, 
I stand and note her march o'er hill and 

plain, 
Like mourners in their sad fu-neral train. 

Fair autumn days! upon your sighing breast 
In meditation deep I sweetly rest; 
Thy breath, that softly plays amid the yews. 
Thy whispering air, so weighted with fresh 

dews. 
And scented like the blooming springtirao 

rose, 
Wdth amorous song shall lull me to i'ei)Ose. 
Halcyon days! my heart is won to you — 
Not goddess, but revealing God so true — 
Long would I in your balmy region stray. 
And tune my soul to sweetest heavenly lay; 
Tour deep and hallowed melancholy sigh 



NATURE POEMS— Months and Seasons. 



133 



Wings me unto the "Rock that's liisher 
than I." 

Unhindered by the tenant-house of clay. 

On silent wings of Muse I fly away; 

I view, o'er earth the couirse of human 

kind. 
And note the struggling- of the heart and 

mind, 
Each one employed some treasure lost, to 

find. 
From Eden's garden, man was turned away; 
He's sought for long-lost treasure since 

that day: 
Amid the isles of some far-distant sea. 
One thinks the priceless jewel there must 

be. 
Or o'er the rugged mountain's frozen brow 
The costly gem lies 'neath the Klondike 

snow. 
Or on the fields of fame they hope to reap 
Pellucid glories that shall never weep; 
In halls of pleasure there they hope to find 
Something to satisfy the heart and mind; 
And thus they seek their treasure lost to 

gain — 
Their autumn days will prove their search 

in vain: 
When they have reached the "sere and yel- 
low leaf," 
They'll fold their arms around the blighted 

sheaf. 

Ambitious mortal, give thy struggle o'er; 
Come rest with me upon this evening shore; 
Behold the wondrous works of Infinite, 
Let naught in earth or sky elude thy sight; 
The book of nature let your thoughts en- 
gage, 
The hand of God you'll find on every page; 
By power of holy faith unloose the seal, 
Let the Book of Life unto your heart reveal 
Redemption's story — sweetest theme o f 

old- 
Find treasures there of greater worth than 
gold. 

Charles E. Obr. 



SEPTEMBER. 

Sweet is the voice that calls 

From babbling waterfalls 
In meadows where the downy seeds are fly- 
ing: 

And soft the breezes blow, 

And eddying come and go 
In faded gardens where the rose is dying. 

Among the stubbled corn 

The blithe quail pipes at morn. 
The merry partridge drums in hidden places, 

And glittering insects gleam 

Above the reedy stream, 
■WTiere busy spiders spin their filmy laces. 

At eve cool shadows fall 
Across the garden wall 
And on the clustered grapes to purple turn- 
ing, 



And pearly vapors lie 
Along the eastern sky, 
Where the broad harvest moon is redly 
burning. 

Ah, soon on field and hill 
The wind shall whistle chill. 

And patriarch swallows call their flocks 
together. 
To fly from frost and snow. 
And seek for lands where blow 

The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather. 

The cricket chirps all day, 
"O fairest summer, stay!" 
The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts 
browning; 
The wild fowl fly afar 
Above the foamy bar. 
And hasten southward ere the skies are 
frowning. 

Now comes a fragrant breeze 

Through the dark cedar-trees, 
And round about my temples fondly lin- 
gers. 

In gentle playfulness, 

Like to the soft caress 
Bestowed in happier days by loving fingers. 

Tet, though a sense of grief 
Comes with the falling leaf. 
And memory makes the summer doubly 
pleasant. 
In all my autumn dreams 
A future summer gleams. 
Passing tlie fairest glories of the present! 

GEOBOa Abnold. 



OCTOBER S BRIGHT BLUE 
WEATHER. 

O suns and skies and clouds of June 
And flowers of June together. 

Ye can not rival for one hour 
October's bright blue weather — 

When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, 

Belated tliriftless vagrant. 
And golden-rod is dying fast, 

And lanes with grapes are fragrant; 

%\Tien gentians roll their fringes tight 
To save them from the morning. 

And chestnuts fall from satin burrs. 
Without a sound of warning; 

When on the ground red apples lie. 
In piles like jewels shining. 

And redder still, on old stone walls. 
Are leaves of woodbine twining; 

■WTien all the lovely wayside things 
Their white-winged seeds are sowing. 

And in the fields, still green and fair. 
Late aftermaths are growing; 

When springs run low and on the brooks, 
In idle golden freighting. 



134 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush 
Of woods for winter waiting. 

O suns and skies and flowers of June, 
Count all your boasts together, 

Love loveth best of all the year 
October's bright blue weather. 

Helen Hcnt Jackson. 



THE AUTUMN WOODS. 

What beauty in the autumn woods! 

Wliere in the calm, deep solitudes. 

The amber sunshine finds its way. 

And checkered light and shadows play. 

Such Leauty everywhere we turn! 

The moss-grown rock and drooping fern. 

The woodland flowers and trailin.g vines. 

The singing brooks and sighing pines, 

The murmur of the gentle breeze 

That stirs the yellow chestnut-leaves 

Till softly in the grasses brown 

The round and prickly burs drop down. 

The maples are in bright array 

Of mottled gold and crimson gay; 

The oak in deepest scarlet dressed: 

In cloth of gold are all the rest, 

Except that now and then between 

There stands a tall dark evergreen 

That sheds its spicy fragrance round, 

And drops its cones upon the ground 

With asters white and purple tinged, 

And golden-rod. the woods are fringed. 

With scarlet berries peeping through 

■Wlhere wild grapes hang of purple hue. 

And fiery-flngered ivy clings, 

Wliile milk-weed floats on downy wings. 

The crickets chirp and insects hum. 

For glorious Autumn now has come. 



THE AUTUMN EVENING. 

Sadly dies the autumn day, 

In moaning winds and sunset gray; 

The forest trees, with branches bare. 

Upraise their arms as though in prayer. 

While at their feet the dead leaves lie 

Hushed and sad and silently. 

The gray squirrel from his dizzy height 
Perceives the fast approaching night. 
And with quick and startled leap. 
Scrambles to his nest and sleep. 
While deep within the wood is heard 
The plaintive cry of the midnight bird. 

Now Just above the western hills. 
The dark clouds part, and sunlight fills 
The forest, and the saddened scene 
Is glorified in the golden sheen 
Of the setting sun. 

So, sweetly on my saddened life. 
Dark with sickness and with strife. 
There falls the sunlight of God's love, 
W^ith hope that in his home above, 
When life and sorrow both be past. 
My weary feet will rest at last. 

J. J. MCGlBB. 



OCTOBER. 

Into its lap the treasures of the year 
Are gladly thrown: the royal golden-rod, 
Fresh from the kind and gracious hand 
of God, 
Puts on a brighter garb, and far and near 
The wonders of the autumn hues appear; 
The balmy air with ecstacy is rife; 
All nature grows in plentitude of life. 
And breathes deep with the bounties of 

good cheer. 
The morning clouds are full of beauty, too, 
And dash their richest crimson o'er the 
scene. 
While in the range of sunset's purple view 
There glows the glory of its changing 
sheen — 
The tints of earth and sky forever new; 
The grandeur which forever rolls between! 

H. A. Lavelbt. 



NOVEMBER. 

The mellow year is hasting to its close; 

The little birds have almost sung their 
last. 

Their small notes twitter in the dreary 
blast — 

That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; 

The patient beauty of the scentless rose. 

Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly 
glassed. 

Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past. 

And makes a little summer where it grows; 

In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day 

The dusky waters shudder as they shine; 

The russet leaves obstruct the straggling 
way 

Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define; 

And the gaunt woods, In ragged, scant ar- 
ray. 

Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine. 

HARTLET COLERIDGB. 



AUTUMN. 

After the spring and the labor of day.s. 
After the summer sun's genial rays. 
Cometh the harvest of golden maize; 
'Tis autumn! 

Golden the harvest and rich in store, 
Bending the beams of the thresher's floor. 
Cheering the hearts of the laboring poor; 
'Tis autumn! 

Beautiful days and balmy air. 
After the season of toil and care. 
Silvery clouds flitting here and there; 
'Tis autumn! 

The fields are brown and the forests red. 
The singing birds of the lawn have fled. 
And the year is waning, too, 'tis said; 
'Tis autumn! 



NATURE POEMS— .Months and Seasons. 



135 



winter will come with Its frosts and snows; 
Prepare we may for its chilling blows 
Before this plenteous season goes; 
'Tis autumn! 

Isaac W. Sanbobn. 



AUTUMN. 

Gone is the spring 'with all its flowers, 
And gone the summer's verdant show; 

Now strewn beneath the autumn bowers. 
The yellow leaves await the snow. 

Behold this earth so cold and gray. 
An emblem of our life appears; 

Its blooming robes sink to decay, 
To rise again in round of years. 

Earth cheers its winter sleep with dreams 
Of springtime's warmth and gentle rain. 

When she shall wake to murmuring streams. 
And songs of merry birds again. 

So we came forth like springtime flowers, 
Soon into manhood's summer grow, 

Then like the leaves of autumn bowers, 
Lie down beneath the winter's snow. 

And there our bodies slumb'ring wait, 
Till time's short winter day has fled. 

And Christ, our Lord and Advocate, 
Shall come again to wake the dead. 

Then winter's storm and summer's heat 
Shall end in everlasting spring, 

And all immortal we shall meet. 
And round the throne of glory sing. 

D. S. Wabneb. 



AUTUMN. 

Frosty is the morning, and the air is chill; 
Nature, robed in beauty, bows to Autumn's 

will; 
Leaves of gold and crimson thickly fly and 

fall. 
Stormy wind in eddies drives them one and 

all; 

Down they come in showers all around our 

feet; 
In the wood and meadow, in the vale and 

street. 
By the hedge and thicket, over marsh and 

plain— 
Ev'rywhere they're whirling to the earth 

amain. 

Soon the sun, arising, casts a cheerful 

smile; 
Now he's brightly beaming, now he hides 

a while. 
Think you he is frowning over what he 

sees — - 
Over withered verdure, over naked trees? 



Nay, he runs his circuit just the same 

along. 
Shining without ceasing, beautiful and 

strong; 
Ruling all the seasons with his welcome 

glow. 
As they in rotation swiftly come and go. 

As the leaves of autumn wither in the cold, 
So our mortal bodies soon will turn to mold. 
But our spirits never; they'll outlive the 

sun. 
Throughout ages they'll live on and on. 

Therefore let us hasten wisdom to impart 
To the lost and dying, to the faint in heart; 
Speak of lasting comfort, happiness, and 

love; 
Point them to the Savior and to heaven 

above. 

Clinton A. Hebwick. 



AUTUMN. 

How calm, how sweet the days of autumn 

seem! 
The dreary earth is like a pleasing dream: 
October's sun makes paradise of noon; 
The starry night pays homage to the moon; 
The sun by day, the moon and stars by 

night. 
Fill every sense with strange and pure 

delight. 
Through all the long hot summer days have 

run 
Swift messengers to wait upon the sun. 
To spread the banquet for the autumn feast, 
For she among the season's lot the least. 
Into old Autumn's lap the ripe fruits fall. 
While all the trees and shrubs, or great or 

small. 
As if to worship with the fruit they bring, 
A whole year's large and bounteous offering. 
She bids the idlers taste and take their fill, 
While frisky squirrels gather where they 

will; 
She feeds the tiny birds, that know no care, 
With seeds dropped here and there and 

everywhere. 
The fairies, riding on the fresh'ning breeze. 
Bend down the topmost branches of the 

trees, 
WTiere hangs the apples, red and russet 

brown; 
That to the grassy mead come tumbling 

down, 
WHiile age bent low and youth together pass. 
To And unharmed the fruit among the grass. 
She dips the maples in a rainbow dye. 
To please the wondrous gaze of passers-by; 
And day by day the marvelous colors grow. 
Till every leaf and fern are all aglow. 
The winter king she watches close wit!. 

care; 
Lest some dread sign should make the goon 

despair. 
She bids the hopeless mortal look and see 
Death's emblem as a pleasing mystery. 

John Rowland. 



136 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



AUTUMN DREAMS. 

When the maples turn to crimson 

'Neath the fingers of the frost; 
When the gardens and the meadows 

All their summer bloom have lost; 
When from off the lowland marshes 

Blue ethereal vapors rise, 
And a dreamy haze is floatingr, 

Through the mellow, sunlit sl<ies, — 

Then I know the year is dying-, 

Soon the summer will be dead. 
I can trace it in the flying 

Of tile black crows overhead: 
I can liear it in the rustle 

Of the dead leaves as I pass. 
And the south wind's plaintive sighing 

Through the dry and withered grass. 

Ah, 'tis then I love to wander, 

Wander idly and alone. 
Listening to tlie solemn music 

Of sweet nature's undertone; 
Wl-apt in thouglits I can not utter, 

Dreams my tongue can not express. 
Dreams that matcli the autumn's sadness 

In their longing tenderness. 

Thoughts of friends my heart hath cher- 
ished 

In the summer days gone by; 
Hopes that all too soon have perislied. 

E'en as summer blossoms die. 
Luckless plans and vain ambitions. 

Stranded, long ere summer's prime. 
Buried, as will be the flowers, 

'Neath the winter snows of time. 

Yet, altliougli my tlioughts are sadder 

Tlian in summer's wealth of bloom, 
'Tis a sadness that makes better. 

And is not akin to gloom. 
All, tlie Iiuman lieart seems purer, 

IVIuch of earth's defilement lost. 
When the maple turns to crimson 

'Neatli the fingers of the frost. 

MoRTiMEB Crane Bbown. 



AUTUMN. 

Witli what glory comes and goes the year! 
The buds of spring, tliose beautiful harbin- 
gers 
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy 
Life's newness, and earth's garniture 

spread out; 
And when the silver habit of the clouds 
Comes down upon ttie autumn sun, and with 
A sober gladness the old years takes up 
His briglit inheritance of golden fruits, 
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. 
There is a beautiful spirit breatliing now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees. 
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes. 
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods. 
And dipping in warm light the pillared 

clouds. 
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird. 



Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales 
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate 

wooer. 
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life 
Within the solemn woods of asli deep-crim- 
soned, 
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved. 
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits 

down 
By the wayside a-weary. Through the 

trees 
The golden robin moves; the purple finch, 
That on wild cherr.v and red cedar feeds, 
A winter bird, comes with Its plaintive 

whistle. 
And pecks by the witch-hazel; whilst aloud 
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird 

sings; 
And merrily, with oft repeated stroke, 
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy 

flail. 
Oh, what a glory doth this world put on 
For liim who, with a fervent heart, goes 

forth 
Under tlie bright and glorious sky, and looks 
On duties well performed, and days well 

spent! 
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves. 
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent 

teachings. 
He shall so hear the solemn hymn that 

Death 
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 
To his long resting-place without a tear. 
Henry Wadsworth Lonqfellow. 



WINTER. 

The day had been a calm and sunny day, 
And tinged with amber was the sky at 
even; 

The fleecy clouds at length had rolled away, 
And lay in furrows on the eastern heaven; 

Tlie moon arose and shed a glimmering ray. 

And round her orb a misty circle lay. 

The hoarfrost glittered on the naked heath. 
The roar of distant winds was loud and 

deep. 
The dry leaves rustled in each passing 

breatli. 
And the gay world was lost in quiet sleep. 
Such was tlie time when, on the landscape 

brown, 
Through a December air the snow came 

down. 

The morning came, the dreary morn, at last. 
And showed the whitened waste. The 
shivering herd 
Lowed on the hoary meadow-ground, and 
fast 
Fell the light flakes upon the earth un- 
stirred; 
The forest firs with glittering snows o'er- 

laid 
Stood like hoar priests in robes of white 
arrayed. 

John H. Bryant. 



NATURE POEMS— Months and Seasons. 



137 



IN WINTER DAYS. 

WTien autumn breezes rattle at the case- 
ment, 
And whistle through the pine-trees at 
the door; 
When squirrels store up nuts without 
abatement. 
And corn-stalks pile up on the old barn 
floor; 

When robins in large floclts begin to chatter 
About the journey southward, near at 
hand. 
And crickets shrilly chirp about the matter 
Of winter days when they will all dis- 
band, — 

We dream of joys beside the iareside wait- 
ing — 
The book, til© game, the quiet social hour 
When we again may think of spring birds 
mating, 
Of sleeping bud unfolding into flower. 

Winter would have no terror to appal us 
Did we but mate our action and desire 

Unto the duties that forever call us. 
And bid us e'en though storm-bound to 
acquire 

The faith that holds the bird poised in mid- 
ocean 
Above a storm-tossed sea, its wings out- 
spread. 
Conscious that through life's turmoil and 
commotion 
We shall be safely and securely led. 

Helen M. Richardson. 



WINTERS CHARMS. 

When the twilight steals upon us, 

Ending thus the wintry day. 
When the atmosphere is chilly 

And the sky is cold and gray. 
We retreat with willing footsteps 

Near the fire-glow on the hearth 
Where the family circle gathers — 

Dearest spot in all the earth. 

Soon the twilight shades grow deeper 

Till they darken into night. 
And we hear the north wind sobbing 

As if driven on in fright 
Through the treetops, round the corner. 

Till at last its mournful tone 
Slowly dies out in the distance 

And no more we hear it moan. 

Then, while we are lost in slumber. 

Silently doth Nature toil 
Robing earth in dazzling garments — 

Nothing does her efforts foil; 
Every tree and shrub and bower 

Must be clothed with special care 



In the clear and crystal raiment 
Which she wishes them to wear. 

When this task she has completed, 

She retires witii ease and grace 
To await the dawn of morning 

In her own appointed place. 
Not one twig has been neglected, 

Not one withered blade of grass, 
Each one now is well enclosed 

In its winter house of glass. 

Now the early dawn is breaking, 

Bidding darkness flee away; 
See, upon the clear horizon 

Shines the glowing orb of day; 
Night is past — behold the morning 

Bursting forth with glorious light! 
Could there be a scene whose beauty 

Would surpass this lovely sight? 

Springtime has her buds and blossoms. 

Summer boasts of roses fair, 
Autumn's pride is golden harvests. 

But of these can none compare 
With the glowing charms of Winter 

When his crystal fields we view. 
Sparkling in the brilliant sunlight 

As the day breaks forth anew. 

Elsib E. Egebmeibb. 



THE NEW YEAR. 

Fleetly hath passed the year; the seasons 

came 
Duly as they were wont — the gentle spring-. 
And the delicious summer, and the cool. 
Rich autumn, with the nodding of the grain. 
And winter, like an old and hoary man. 
Frosty and stiff — and so are chronicled. 
We have read gladness in the new green 

leaf. 
And in the first-blown violets; we have 

drunk 
Cool water from the rock, and in the shade 
Sunk to the noontide slumber; we have 

plucked 
The mellow fruitage of the bending tree. 
And girded to our pleasant wanderings 
When the cool winds came freshly from 

the hills; 
And when the tinting of the autumn leaves 
Had faded from its glory, we have sat 
By the good fires of winter, and rejoiced 
Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf. 
"God hath been very good." 'Tis he 

whose hand 
Molded the sunny liills and hollowed out 
The shelter of the valleys, and doth keep 
The fountains in their secret places cool; 
And it is he who leadetn up the sun. 
And ordereth the starry influences. 
And tempereth the keenness of the frost; 
And, therefore, in the plenty of the feast. 
And in the lifting of the cup, let him 
Have praises for the well-completed year, 
Nathaniel Pabkes Willis. 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM 
HEROISM 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



141 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM 



AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 

Hail to the planting: of Liberty's tree! 
Hail to the charter declaring us free! 
Millions of voices are chanting its praises. 

Millions of worshipers bend at its shrine. 
Wherever the sun of America blazes. 

Wherever the stars of our bright banner 
shine. 

Sing to the heroes who breasted the flood 

That, swelling, rolled o'er them, a deluge 
of blood. 

Fearless they clung to the ark of the nation, 
And dashed on mid lightning and thun- 
der and blast. 

Till Peace, like the dove, brought her 
branch of salvation. 
And Liberty's mount was their refuge at 
last. 

Bright is the beautiful land of our birth, 
The home of the homeless all over the 

earth. 
Oh! let us ever with fondest devotion. 
The freedom our fathers bequeathed us, 
watch o'er. 
Till the angel shall stand on the earth 
and the ocean. 
And shout mid earth's ruins that time is 
no more. 

A. B. Stbeet. 



TELL ON SWITZERLAND. 

Once Switzerland was free! With what a 

pride 
I used to walk these hills, look up to heaven. 
And bless God that it was so! It was free 
From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas 

free! 
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks. 
And plough our valleys, without asking 

leave; 
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of 

snow 
In very presence of the regal sun! 
How happy was I in it, then! I loved 
Its very storms; ay, often have I sat 
In my boat at night, and when midway o'er 

the lake. 
The stars went out, and down the moun- 
tain-gorge 
The wind came roaring — I have sat and 

eyed 
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and 

smiled 
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my 

head. 
And think I had no master save his own. 
Tou know the jutting cliff, round which a 

track 
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow 
To such another one, with scanty room 
For two abreast to pass? O'ertaken there 



By the mountain-blast, I've laid me flat 

along. 
And while gust followed gust more furi- 
ously. 
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, 
And I have thought of other lands, whose 

storms 
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 
Have wished me there, the thought that 

mine was free 
Has checked that wish, and I have raised 

my head. 
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 
"Blow on! This is the land of liberty!" 

J. S. Knowles. 



IT IS AN EMBLEM OF GLORY. 

O flag of a resolute nation, 

O flag of the strong and the free, 

The cherished of true-hearted millions. 
We hallow thy colors three! 

Three proud, floating emblems of glory. 

Our guide for the coming time; 
The red, white, and blue, in their beauty. 
Love gives them a meaning sublime. 

Thy red is the deep crimson life-stream 
"WTiich flowed on the battle-plain. 

Redeeming our land from oppression, 
And leaving no servile stain. 

Thy white is a proud people's honor. 
Kept spotless and clear as light; 

A pledge of unfaltering justice; 
A symbol of truth and right. 

Thy blue is our nation's endurance. 
And points to the blue abeve — 

The limitless, measureless azure, 
A type of our Father's love. 

Thy stars are God's witness of blessing, 
And smile at the foeman's frown; 

They sparkle and gleam in their splendor, 
Bright gems in the great world's crown. 

JaSIES MONTGOilEBT. 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 

Scion of a mighty stock! 
Hands of iron, hearts of oak, 
Follow with unflinching tread 
Where the noble fathers led. 

Craft and subtle treachery. 
Gallant youth! are not for thee; 
Follow thou in word and deeds 
Where the God within thee leads! 

Honesty with steady eye. 
Truth and pure simplicity. 
Love that gently winneth hearts — 
These shall be thy only arts: 



143 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Prudent in the council train, 
Dauntless on the battle-plain, 
Ready at the country's need 
For her glorious cause to bleed. 

■Wiiere the dews of night distil 
Upon Vernon's holy hill; 
WTiere above it, gleaming far. 
Freedom lights her guiding star, — 

Thither turns the steady eye. 
Flashing with a purpose high; 
Thither, with devotion meet. 
Often turn the pilgrim feet. 

Let the noble motto be, 
God — the country — liberty! 
Planted on religion's rock, 
Thou Shalt stand in every shock. 

Laugh at danger far or near! 
Spurn at baseness — spurn at fear! 
Still, with persevering might. 
Speak the truth, and do the right. 

So shall peace, a charming guest. 
Dove-like in thy bosom rest; 
So shall honor's steady blaze 
Beam upon thy closing days. 

Happy if celestial favor 
Smile upon the high endeavor; 
Happy if it be thy call 
In the holy cause to fall. 

Alexander Hill Evekett. 



THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 

[Francis Scott Key was an American who, with a 
friend was detained with the British fleet during the 
attack on Fort McHenr.v, near Baltimore. Sept. 13, 
14. 1814. In a position to witness the bombard- 
ment, they watched, with great anxiety, the Ameri- 
can flag over the (ort all day until night hid It from 
view. With eager eyes they looked in that direction 
at dawn. and. to their great joy. they saw the star 
spangled banner .vet waving over the ramparts. It 
inspired the poet. This composition is now our na- 
tional song. 1 

Oh, say! can you see, by the dawn's early 

light. 
What so proudly we hailed at the twi- 
light's last gleaming? 
"WJiose broad stripes and bright stars 

through the perilous fight. 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so 

gallantly streaming; 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs 

bursting in air. 
Gave proof through the night that our flag 

was still there. 
Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner 

yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave? 

On that shore, dimly seen through the 
mists of the deep. 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread 
silence reposes. 



Wliat is that which the breeze, o'er the 

towering steep. 
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now 

discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's 

first beam. 
In full glory reflected, now shines on the 

stream; 
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long 

may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly 

swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle's 

confusion, 
A home and a country should leave us no 

more? 
Their blood has washed out their foul 

footstep's pollution; 
No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight or the gloom of 

the grave. 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph 

doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave! 

Oh! thus be it ever when freemen shall 

stand 
Between their loved homes and the war's 

desolation; 
Blessed with victory and peace, may the 

heaven-rescued land 
Praise the Power that hath made and 

preserved us a nation. 
Then conquer we must when our cause it 

is just. 
And this be our motto: "In God is our 

trust." 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph 

shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave! 

FRANcia Scott Key. 



REFLECTIONS ON A BATTLE-FIELD. 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands. 

Were trampled by a hurrying crowd. 
And fiery liearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave — 
Gushed, warm W'ith liope and courage yet, 

Upon the soil they sought to save. 

Now all is calm and fresh and still; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird. 
And talk of children on the hill, 

And bell of wandering kine are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering 
wain; 

Men start not at the battle-cry. 
Oh, be it never heard again! 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



143 



Soon rested those who fought; but thou 
Who mightiest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now, 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare! ling-ering- long 
Through weary day and weary year, 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

Tet nerve thy spirit to tlie proof, 
And blench not at thy chosen lot; 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may front — yet faint thou not. 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; 

The eternal years of God are hers; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain. 

And dies among his worshipers. 

Tea, though thou lie upon the dust, 

Wlien they who helped thee nee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust. 
Like those who fell in battle here. 

Another hand thy sword shall wield. 
Another hand the standard wave. 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 
William Cullen Bryant. 



THE FREEMAN. 

[From "The Winter Morning Walks."] 

He is the freeman whom the truth makes 
free. 
And all are slaves beside. There's not a 

chain 
That hellish foes confederate for his harm 
Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
With as much ease as Samson his green 

withes. 
He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature; and though poor, perhaps, com- 
pared 
With those whose mansions glitter in his 

sight, 
Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
His are the mountains, and the valley his. 
And the resplendent rivers — his to enjoy 
With a propriety that none can feel 
But who, with filial confidence inspired 
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye. 
And smiling say, "My Father made them 

all!" 
Are they not his by a peculiar right. 
And by an emphasis of interest his. 
Whose eyes they fill with tears of holy joy, 
Whose heart with praise, and whose ex- 
alted mind 
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied 

love 
That planned and built, and still uphold.?, 
a world 



So clothed with beauty for rebellious man? 
Yes, ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much 

good 
In senseless riot; but ye will not find 
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
A liberty like liis, who, unimpeached 
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong. 
Appropriates nature as his Father's work. 
And has a richer use of yours than you. 
He is indeed a freeman — free by birth 
Of no mean city, planned or e'er the hills 
Were built, the fountains opened, or the sea 
With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
His freedom is the same in every state; 
And no condition of this changeful life. 
So manifold in cares, whose every day 
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less. 
For he has wings that neither sickness, 

pain. 
Nor penury can cripple or confine; 
No nook so narrow but he spreads them 

there 
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor 

holds 
His body bound; but knows not what a 

range 
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; 
And that to bind him is a vain attempt. 
Whom God delights in, and in whom he 

dwells. William Cowpeh. 



BRAVE KATE SHELLEY S HEROISM. 

[Kate Sbelley was a young Iowa girl who. one 
stormy night, saved the passengers on a railway train 
from certain death by climbing over a trestle that 
had been partly destroyed and attracting the atten- 
tion of the engineer. She was all but exhausted 
when found, but fortunately recovered in a short 
time.] 

Through the whirl of wind and water, 

Parted by the rushing steel. 
Flashed the white glare of the headlight. 

Flew the swift revolving wheel, 
As the midnight train swept onward. 

Bearing on its iron wings. 
Through the gloom of night and tempest. 

Freightage of most precious things. 

Little children by their mothers 

Nestle in unbroken rest. 
Stalwart men are dreaming softly 

Of their journey's finished quest, 
Wtiile the men who watcli and guard them 

Sleepless stand at post and brake. 
Close the throttle, draw the lever. 

Safe for wife and sweetheart's sake. 

Sleep and dream, unheeding danger; 

In the valley yonder lies 
Death's debris in weird confusion, 

Altar fit for sacrifice! 
Dark and grim the .shadows settle 

Where the hidden perils wait; 
Swift the train, with dear lives laden, 

Rushes to its deadly fate. 

Still they sleep and dream unheeding. 
O thou watchful One above. 



144 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Save Thy people in this hour! 

Save the ransomed of thy love! 
Send an angel from thy heaven 

■Who shall calm the troubled air, 
And reveal the powers of evil. 

Hidden in the darkness there. 

Saved! ere yet they know their peril. 

Comes a warning to alarm; 
Saved! the precious train is resting 

On the brink of deadly harm. 
God has sent his angel to them, 

Brave Kate Shelley, hero-child! 
Struggling on, alone, unaided, 

Through that night of tempest wild. 

Brave Kate Shelley, tender maiden. 

Baby hands, with splinters torn. 
Saved the lives of sleeping travelers. 

Swiftly to death's journey borne. 
Mothers wept and clasped their darlings. 

Breathing words of grateful prayer: 
Men, with faces blanched and tearful. 

Thanked God for brave Kate Shelley there 

Greater love than this hath no man; 

When the heaveps shall unfold. 
And the judgment-books are opened. 

There, in characters of gold. 
Brave Kate Shelley's name shall center. 

Mid the pure, the brave, the good — 
That of one who crowned witli glory 

Her heroic womanhood. 

Mas. M. L. Ratne, 



DEATH OF GAUDENTIS. 

[Gandentis was the architect of the Coliseum. 
Upon his tomb in the Catacombs was found this in- 
scription : "Thus thou Iseepest thy promises. O Ves- 
pasian ! The rewarding with death of him. the crown 
of th.v glor.v in Rome. Do rejoice. O Gaudentis ! the 
cruel tyrant promised much, but Christ gave thee all, 
who prepared thee such a mansion."] 

Before Vespasian's regal throne 

Skilful Gaudentis stood; 
"Build me," the haughty monarch cried, 

"A theater for blood. 
I know thou'rt skilled in mason's work; 

Thine is the power to frame 
Rome's Coliseum vast and wide. 

An honor to thy name. 

"Over seven acres spread thy work. 

And by the gods of Rome, 
Thou Shalt hereafter by my side 

Have thy resplendent home. 
A citizen of Roman rights. 

Silver and golden store. 
These shall be thine; let Christian blood 

But stain the marble floor." 

So rose the Amphitheater, 

Tower and arch and tier: 
There dawned a day when martyrs stood 

Within that ring of fear. 
But strong their quenchless trust in God, 

And strong their human love; 
Their eyes of faith, undimmed, were fixed 

On temples far above. 



And thousands gazed, in brutal joy. 

To watch those Christians die: 
But one beside Vespasian leaned. 

With a strange light in his eye. 
What thoughts welled up within his breast 

As on that group he gazed! 
■Wliat gleams of holy light from heaven 

Upon his dark soul blazed! 

Had he by password gained access 

To the dark Catacomb, 
And learned the hope of Christ's beloved. 

Beyond the rack, the tomb? 
Tlie proud Vespasian o'er him bends — 

"My priceless architect. 
Today I will announce to all 

Thy privilege elect — 

A free-made citizen of Rome." 

Calmly, Gaudentis rose. 
And folding, o'er his breast, his arms. 

Turned to the Savior's foes; 
And in a strength not all his own. 

With life and death in view. 
The fearless architect exclaimed, 

"I am a. Christian too." 

Only a few brief moments passed, 

And brave Gaudentis lay 
Within the Amphitheater, 

A lifeless mass of clay. 
Vespasian promised him the rights 

Of proud Imperial Rome, 
But Christ with martyrs crowned him king. 

Beneath heaven's cloudless dome. 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 

Here are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled 

pines, 
Tliat stream with gray-green mosses; here 

the ground 
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers 

spring up 
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, 

and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they 

pass, 
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
With pale-blue berries. In these peaceful 

sliades — 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 
My thoughts go up the long dim path of 

years. 
Back to the earliest days of liberty. 

O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream. 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate 

limbs, 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
With which the Roman master crowned 

his slave 
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, 
Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailed 

hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the 

sword; thy brow. 
Glorious in beauty though it be. is scarred 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



145 



With tokens of old wars: thy massive limbs 
Are strong with struggling. Power at thee 

has launched 
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten 

thee: 
They could not quench the life thou hast 

from heaven. 
Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, 
And his swart armorers, by a thousand 

fires. 
Have forged thy chain: yet while he deems 

thee bound. 
The links are shivered, and the prison walls 
Fall outward: terribly thou springest forth, 
As springs the flame above a burning pile. 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Thy shoutinss. while the pale oppressor 

flies. 
Thy birthright was not given by human 

hands: 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleas- 
ant fields. 
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st 

with him. 
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood. 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 
His only foes: and thou with hira didst 

draw 
The earliest furrow on the mountain-side. 
Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look. 
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, 
Is later born than thou: and as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye. 
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 
Thou Shalt wax stronger with the lapse 

of years. 
But he shall fade into a feebler age: 
Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his 

snares. 
And spring them on thy careless steps, and 

clap 
His withered hands, and from their ambush 

call 
His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send 
Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant 

forms 
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful 

words 
To charm thy ear: while his sly imps, by 

stealth. 
Twine round thee threads of steel, lis!it 

thread on thread 
That grow to fetters, or bind down thy arms 
"With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh ! 

not yet 
Mayst thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by 
Thy sword: nor yet. O Freedom! close thy 

lids 
In slumber: for thine enemy never sleeps. 
And thou must watch and combat till the 

day 
Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst 

thou rest 
A while from tumult and the frauds of 

men. 
These old and friendly solitudes invite 
Thy visit. The.v, while yet the forest trees 



Were young upon the un violated earth, 
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were 

new, 
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 
William Cullen Beya.nt. 



OLD IRONSIDES. 

[The frigate Constitution, historic but old and un- 
seaworthy. was condemned by the Navy Department 
to be destroyed. Holmes read this in a newspaper 
paragraph, and it stirred him. i>n a scrap of paper, 
with a lead pencil, he rapidly shaped the impetuous 
stanzas of "Old Ironsides" and sent them to a Bos- 
ton paper. They traveled fast and far through the 
newspaper press and were even printeil in hand-bills 
and circulated about the streets of Washington. A 
national indignation was stirred, and the Secretary 
made liaste to retrace Jiis step. The Constitution's 
tattered ensign was not torn down. Tliis is probably 
the only case in which a government policy was 
changed by the verses of a college student. Holmes 
ha<l only come of age a month before.] 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! 

Long has it waved on high. 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky: 
Beneath it rung the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood. 

Where knelt the vanquished foe. 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood. 

And waves were white below. 
No more shall feel the victor's tread. 

Or know the conquered knee: 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea! 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave: 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep. 

And there should be her grave. 
Nail to the mast her holy flag. 

Set every threadbare sail. 
And give her to the god of storms. 

The lightning and the gale! 

Olivek We>-dell Holmes. 



WASHINGTON. 

Land of the West! though passing brief 

The record of thine age. 
Thou hast a name that darkens all 

On history's wide page. 
Let all the blasts of Fame rini,' out, 

Thine shall be loudest far; 
Let others boast their satellites. 

Thou hast the planet star. 

Thou hast a name whose characters 

Of light shall ne'er depart: 
'Tis stamped upon the dullest brain, 

And warms the coldest heart; 
A war-cry fit for any land 

Wliere freedom's to be won; 
Land of the West! it stands alone. 

It is thy Washington! 



146 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Rome had its Cfesar, great and brave, 

But stain was on his wreath; 
He lived the heartless conqueror. 

And died the tyrant's death. 
France had its eagle, but his wings. 

Though lofty they might soar, 
Were spread in false ambition's flight. 

And dipped in murder's gore. 

Tliose hero-gods, whose mighty sway 

Would fain have claimed the waves: 
W\\o flashed their blades with tiger zeal 

To make a world of slaves: 
Who, though their kindred barred the path, 

Still fiercely waded on — 
Oh, where appears their "glory" now 

Beside a Washington! 

He fought, but not with love of strife; 

He struck but to defend; 
And ere he turned a people's foe. 

He sought to be a friend. 
He strove to keep his country's right 

By reason's gentle word, 
And sighed when all injustice threw 

The challenge sword to sword. 

He stood, the firm, the grand, the wise. 

The patriot, and the sage; 
He showed no deep, avenging hate. 

No burst of despot rage; 
He stood for liberty and truth. 

And daringly led on, 
Till shouts of victory gave forth 

The name of Washington. 

Eliza Cooic, 



MY COUNTRY. 

There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world be- 
side. 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons imparadise the night; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tutored age. and love-exalted youth. 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting 

shores. 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair. 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air. 
In every clime, the magnet of his soul. 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that 

pole; 
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race. 
The heritage of nature's noblest grace, 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 
Wliere man. creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and scepter, pageantry and pride. 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son. the husband, brother, 

friend. 
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter. 

wife 
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way 

of life: 
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
' An angel-guard of love and graces lie; 



Around her knees domestic duties meet. 

And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 

"Where shall that land, that spot of earth 
be found?" 

Art thou a man? a patriot? look around; 

Oh! thou Shalt find, how'er thy footsteps 
roam. 

That land thy country, and that spot thy 
home! 
* * * * ** * * ** 

Man, through all ages of revolving time. 

Unchanging man. in every varying clime, 

Deems his own land of every land the pride. 

Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world be- 
side; 

His home the spot of earth supremely blest, 

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 
James MoNTGOMERt. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

When Freedom, from her mountain height. 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night. 

And set the stars of glory there; 
Slie mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The nfllky baldric of the skies. 
And striped its pure, celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then, from his mansion in tlie sun, 
Slie called her eagle-bearer down. 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud! 

■RTlio rearest aloft thy regal form. 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud. 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

WJien strive the warriors of the storm. 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the SunI to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free. 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory! 

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly. 
The sign of hope and triumph high! 
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on. 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn. 
And, as his springing steps advance. 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance; 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
And gory sabers rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall. 
Then- shall thy meteor glances glow. 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas! on ocean-wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



147 



Wlien death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling: rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel-hands to valor given. 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us. 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet. 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! 
Joseph Rodman Dbake. 



STANZAS ON FREEDOM. 

Men, whose boast it is that ye 
Come of fathers brave and free. 
If there breathe on earth a slave. 
Are ye truly free and brave? 
If ye do not feel the chain 
■Wlien it works a brother's pain. 
Are ye not base slaves, indeed — 
Slaves unworthy to be freed? 

Is true freedom but to break 
Fetters for our own dear sake. 
And, with leathern hearts, forget 
That we owe mankind a debt? 
No; true freedom is to sliare 
All the chains our brothers wear. 
And, with heart and hand, to be 
Earnest to make others free! 

They are slaves who fear to speak 

For the fallen and the weak; 

They are slaves who will not choose 

Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth tliey needs must think; 

They are slaves who dare not be 

In the right with two or three. 

jAUEs IUI.SSELI, Lowell. 



RECESSIONAL. 

God of our fathers, known of old — 
Lord of our far-flung battle-line — 

Beneath whose awful hand we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine — 

Lord God of hosts, be with us yet. 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

The tumult and the shouting dies. 
The captains and the kings depart — 

Still stands thine ancient Sacrifice, 
An humble and a contrite heart; 

Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 



Far-called our navies melt away. 

On dune and headland sinks the fire- 
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 



Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. 
Judge of the nations, spare us yet. 
Lest we forget — lest we forgetl 

If, drunk with sight of power we loose 

Wild tongues that have not thee in awe- 
Such boasting as the Gentiles use 

Or lesser breeds without the law — 
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet. 
Lest we forget — lest we forgeti 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron .shard; 

All valiant dust that builds on du.st. 
And guarding calls not thee to guard: 

For frantic boast and foolish word, — 
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord! 

Rbdvakd Kipling. 



INDEPENDENCE BELL. 

[When the Declaration of Independence was signed 
by Congress at Philadelphia. July 4, 1776, the event 
was announced by the ringing of the old State House 
bell, which bore the inscription. "Proclaim liberty 
throughout the land, to all the inhabitants thereof." 
The old bellman stationed liis little grandson at the 
door of the hall to await the instructions of the door 
keeper when to ring. .\t the word, the young patriot 
rushed out, and clapping his bands, shouted, *'Ringt 
EiNo! RING!"] 

There was a tumult in the city. 

In the ciuaint old Quaker town. 
And the streets were rife with people 

Pacing restless up and down, 
People gathering at the corners. 

Where they whispered eacli to each. 
And the sweat stood on their temples 

With the earnestness of speech. 

As the bleak Atlantic currents 

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore. 
So they beat against the State House, 

So they surged against the door; 
And the mingling of their voices 

Made a harmony profound. 
Till the quiet street of Chestnut 

Was all turbulent with sound, 

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" 

"Wlio is speaking?" "^Tiat's the news?" 
"What of Adams?" "Wliat of Sherman?" 

"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!" 
"Make some way there!" "Let me nearer!'* 

"I am stifling!" "Stifle, tlien! 
When a nation's life's at hazard. 

We've no time to think of men!" 

So they surged against the State House, 

Wliile all solemnly inside 
Sat the "Continental Congress," 

Truth and reason for their guide. 
O'er a simple scroll debating. 

Which, though simple it might be. 
Yet should shake the cliffs of England 

W^ith the thunders of the free. 

Far aloft in that high steeple 
Sat the bellman, old and gray; 

He was weary of the tyrant 
And his iron-sceptered sway. 

So he sat with one hand ready 



148 



TREASURES OF POETRY 



On the clapper of the bell. 
■When his eye could catch the signal, 
The long-expected news, to tell. 

See! See! The dense crowd quivers 

Through all its lengtliy line, 
As tlie boy beside the portal 

Hastens forth to give the sign; 
T\'ith his little hands uplifted. 

Breezes dallying with his hair. 
Hark! with deep, clear intonation. 

Breaks his young voice on the air: 

Hushed the people's swelling murmur, 

Whilst the boy cries joyously: 
"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring, Grandpapa, 

Ring, oh, ring for liberty!" 
<3uickly, at the given signal 

The old bellman lifts his hand. 
Forth he sends the good news, making 

Iron music through the land. 

How they shouted! What rejoicing! 

How the old bell shook the air. 
Till the clang of freedom ruffled 

The calmly gliding Delaware! 
How the bonfires and the torches 

Lighted up the night's repose. 
And from the flames, like fabled Phcenix, 

Our glorious liberty arose! 

That old State-House bell is silent. 

Hushed is now its clamorous tongue: 
But the spirit it awakened 

Still is living — ever young: 
And when we greet the smiling sunlight 

On the fourth of each July, 
We will ne'er forget the bellman 

W'ho, betwixt die earth and sky. 
Rung out, loudly, "Independence!" 

Which, please God, shall never die! 



COVER THEM OVER. 

Covor them over with beautiful flowers, 
Deck them with garlands, those brothers 

of ours. 
Lying so silent, by night and by day. 
Sleeping the years of their manhood away, 
Tears they had marked for tlie joys of the 

brave. 
Tears they must waste in the sloth of the 

grave. 
All the bright laurels that promised to 

bloom 
Fell to the earth when they went to the 

tomb. 
Give them the meed they have won in the 

past; 
Give them the honors their merits forecast ; 
Give them the chaplets they won in the 

strife; 
Give them the laurels they lost with their 

life. 
Cover them over, yes. cover them over — 
Parent and husband and brother and lover; 
Crown in your heart these dead heroes of 

ours. 
And cover them over with beautiful flowers! 



Cover tlie faces that motionless lie. 
Shut from the blue of the glorious sky; 
Faces once lighted with smiles of the gay. 
Faces now marred by the frown of decay. 
Eyes that beamed friendship and love to 

your own. 
Lips that sweet thoughts of affection made 

known. 
Brows you have soothed in the day of dis- 
tress. 
Cheeks you have flushed by the tender 

caress. 
Faces that brightened at war's stirring cry, 
I'aces that streamed when they bade you 

good-by. 
Faces that glowed in the battle's red flame, 
Paling for naught till the death-angel came. 
Cover them over, yes, cover them over — 
Parent and husband and brother and lover; 
Kiss in your hearts these dead heroes of 

ours. 
And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 

Cover the hands that are resting, half-tired. 
Crossed on the bosom or low by the side: 
Hands to you, mother, in infancy thrown: 
Hands that you, father, close hid in your 

own; 
Hands where you, sister, when tried and 

dismayed. 
Hung for protection and counsel and aid; 
Hands that you, brother, for faithfulness 

knew; 
Hands that you. wife, wrung in bitter 

adieu. 
Bravely the cross of their country they 

bore. 
Words of devotion they wrote with their 

gore; 
Grandly they grasped for a garland of 

light. 
Catching the mantle of death-darkened 

night. 
Cover them over, yes, cover them over — 
Parent and husband and brother and lover: 
Clasp in your hearts these dead heroes 

of ours. 
And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 



Cover the feet that, all weary and torn. 
Thither by comrades were tenderly borne: 
Feet that have trodden, through love- 
lighted ways. 
Near to your own in the old happy days; 
Feet tliat have pressed, in life's opening 

morn, 
Roses of pleasure and death's poisoned 

thorn. 
Swiftly they rushed to the help of the 

right. 
Firmly they stood in the shock of the fight. 
Ne'er shall the enemy's hurrying tramp 
Summon them forth from their death- 
guarded camp; 
Xe'er till eternity's bugle shall sound 
Will they come out from their couch in the 

ground. 
Cover them over, yes, cover them over — 
Parent and husband and brother and lover; 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



14» 



Rough were the paths of those heroes of 

ours — 
Now cover them over with beautiful flowers. 

Cover the hearts that have beaten so high, 
Beaten with hopes tliat were born but to die; 
Hearts that have burned in the heat of the 

fray, 
Hearts that have yearned for the homes far 

away, 
Hearts that beat high in the charge's loud 

tramp, 
Hearts that low fell in the prison's foul 

damp. 
Once they were swelling with courage and 

will. 
Now they are lying all pulseless and still; 
Once they were glowing with friendship 

and love. 
Now their great souls have gone soaring 

above. 
Bravely their blood to the nation they gave. 
Then in their bosom they found them a 

grave. 
Cover them over, yes, cover them over^ 
Parent and husband and brother and lover; 
I'ress to your hearts these dead heroes of 

ourg. 
And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 

One there is sleeping in yonder low tomb. 
Worthy the brightest of flowrets that 

bloom. 
Weakness of womanhood's life was her part. 
Tenderly stung was her generous heart. 
Bravely she stood by the sufferer's side, 
Checking the pain and the life-bearing tide; 
Fighting the swift-sweeping phantom of 

death. 
Easing the dying man's fluttering breath; 
Then, when the strife that had nerved her 

was o'er. 
Calmly she went to where wars are no 

more. 
Voices have blessed her now silent and 

dumb; 
Voices will bless her in long years to come. 
Cover her ove^, yes, cover her over; 
Blessings, like angels, around her shall 

hover; 
Cherish the name of that sister of ours. 
And cover her over with beautiful flowers. 

Cover the thousands who sleep far away — 
Sleep where their friends can not find them 

today; 
The.v ^^•ho in mountain and liillside and dell 
Rest where they wearied and lie where 

they fell. 
Softly the grass-blade creeps round their 

repose. 
Sweetly above them the wild flow'ret blows; 
Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o'erhead, 
Whispering names for the patriot dead. 
So in our minds we will name them once more. 
So in our hearts we will cover them o'er; 
Roses and lilies and violets blue. 
Bloom in our soTils for the brave and the 

true. 
Cover them over, yes, cover them over — 



Parent and husband and brother and lover; 
Think of those far-away heroes of ours. 
And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 

Will Casleton. 



OUR COUNTRY S DEAD. 

The mounds are sinking level with the plain. 
As if Time's hurried footsteps gently 

pressed 
With tender memories where our heroes 
rest — ■ 
Those mounds above our country's buried 
slain. 

The turf is thickening with the passing- 
years. 
And daisies now grow thicker in the sod. 
Where sleep the Nation's dead, and thicker 
nod 
The lilies watered by a nation's tears. 

And all is calm beneath the grass today; 
Quiet and soft their peaceful slumbers 

prove. 
Heedless alike of what goes on above. 
Whether they lay them down in blue or 
gray. 

We bring our offerings for those who stood 
For home and country against all beside, 
Wlio, holding loyal to that service, died, ■ 

Thus sealing their devotion witli their blood. 

And may the passing years weave closer 
yet 
The interlacing ties of human kind. 
As in the sod the knotted grasses bind 
And hold the springing daisies closer set. 
ISAAO Bassett Choate. 



A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS. 

A monument for the soldiers! 

And what will ye build it of? 
Can ye build it of marble or brass or bronze. 

Outlasting the soldiers' love? 
Can ye glorify it with legends 

As grand as their blood hath writ 
From the inmost shrine of this land of 
thine 

To the outermost verge of it? 

And the answer came: "\\'e would build it 

Out of our hopes made sure. 
And out of our purest prayers and tears. 

And out of our faith secure. 
We would build it out of the great white 
truths 

Tlieir death hath sanctified. 
And the sculptured forms of the men In 
arms. 

And their faces ere they died." 

And what heroic figures 

Can the .sculptor carve in stone? 

Can the marble breast be made to bleed 
And the marble lips to moan? 

Can the marble brow be fevered. 



150 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And the marble eyes be grraved 
To look their last as the flag floats past 
On the country they have saved? 

And the answer came: "The figures 

Shall all be fair and brave. 
And, as befitting, as pure and white 

As the stars above their grave; 
The marble lips and breast and brow 

■Whereon the laurel lies, 
Bequeath us right to guard the flight 

Of the old flag in the skies." 

A monument for the soldiers! 

Built of a people's love 
And blazoned and decked and panoplied 

With the hearts ye build it of; 
And see that ye build it stately. 

In pillar and niche and gate. 
And high in pose as the souls of those 

It would commemorate! 

Jambs Whitcomb Riley. 



TO A BATTLE-SHIP. 

[Written for. and read on tUe occasion of, the 
launchinfl of the battle-ship lotca.] 

"Wake, giant of oak and steel. 

Asleep by the yellow sand. 
And give to the sea thy keel, 

And bid farewell to the land. 
At the touch of beauty arise, 

At the words that shall bid thee move, 
At the hand that .shall thee baptize. 

And give to the sea its love. 

Sail, sail O ship that is ours! 

New warrant that peace shall be, 
Wliatever the cloud that lowers, 

O ship of the Western sea! 
To every land of the earth. 

To seas that are fair and far. 
Bear thou the message of worth. 

That peace is better than war. 

And guard thou ever our fame. 

From gulf to the utmost bay; 
And keep forever thy name 

As fair as it is today. 
And if ever grim war should come, 

In spite of the mien we bear — 
"W^lth the sound of the hurrying drum, 

And a wail of death on the air — 

Then open thy sides of steel. 

And fight with thy thousand men 
Till the ships of the foe shall feel 

There are giants abroad again; 
And thunder with all thy guns. 

And smite with thy lightning stroke. 
Nor stop though thy bravest sons 

Lie bleeding in battle's smoke. 

Cry out to them Perry's name, 
Remember how Lawrence fell. 

And the flag that's above the flame, 
In spite of the fires of hell. 

And if ever a foe should bid 
Thee yield to a haughty hand. 



Tell him what our Morris did 

When he sank with the Cumberland. 

Far better the ship go down. 

And her guns and her thousand men. 
In the depths of the sea to drown, 

Than ever to sail again 
■RTth the day of her promise done, 

Or the star of her glory set. 
Or a thread from the standard gone, 

That never has yielded yet. 

Then awake, O giant of steel. 

Asleep by the yellow sand. 
Arise from thy dreams and feel 

The thrill of a nation's hand! 
Sail, sail to many a main. 

Strange lands and to trackless w^ays. 
But ever come back again. 

New crowned with the victor's bays. 

Tour colors already we know — 

The colors our hearts adore — 
The sea wave's white and the wine's red 

And the blue sky bending o'er. 
Sail, sail, oh, sail. 

But come to us at the last, 
If from the battle or from the gale, 

Wlith the old flag at the mast! 

S. H. .M. Byer 



low 



SHERIDAN S RIDE. 

Up from the South at break of day. 
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay. 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftan's 

door. 
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar. 
Telling the battle was on once more. 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon's bar, 
And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery 

fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 
A good, broad liighway leading down; 
And there through the flush of the morn- 
ing light, 
A steed as black as the steeds of night, 
■y^ias seen to pass, as with eagle flight. 
As if he knew the terrible need. 
He stretched away with his utmost speed; 
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay. 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thun- 
dering South, 

The dust, like smoke from the cannon's 
mouth, 

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster 
and faster. 

Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



151 



The heart of the steed and the heart of the 

master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting 

their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls: 
Every nerve of the charger was strained 

to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 
And the landscape sped away behind 
Like an ocean flying before the wind. 
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace 

ire, 
Swept on with his wild eye full of Are- 
But lo! he IS Hearing his heart's desire; 
He is snuffing tlie smoke of the roaring 

fray, 
With Sheridan only flve miles away. 

The first that the General saw were the 

groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating 

troops: 
Wliat was done — what to do — a glance told 

him both. 
And, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath 
He dashed down the line, mid a storm of 

huzzas. 
And the wave of retreat checked its course 

there, because 
The sight of the master compelled it to 

pause. 
With foam and with dust the black cliarger 

was gray; 
By the flash of his eye. and his red nos- 
tril's play. 
He seemed to tiie whole great army to say, 
"I have brought you Sheridan all the way. 
From ■R'^nchester down, to save the day." 

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! 

Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man! 

.4nd when their statutes are placed on high. 

Under the dome of the Union sky — 

The American soldiers' Temple of Fame — 

There with the glorious General's name 

Be it said in letters both bold and bright: 

"Here is the steed that saved the day 
By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 

From Winchester — twenty miles away!" 
Thomas Buchanan Read. 



HEROISM. 

Once to ev'ry man and nation 

Comes tlie moment to decide. 
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, 

For the good or evil side; 
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, 

Offers each the bloom or blight — 
And the choice goes by forever 

'Twixt that darkness and that light. 

Then to side with Truth is noble 

When we share her wretched crust, 

Kre her cause brings fame or profit 
And 'tis prosp'rous to be just; 



Then it is the brave man chooses. 
While the coward stands aside 

Till the multitude make virtue 
Of the faith they had denied. 

Though the cause of Evil prosper, 

Yet 'tis Truth alone is strong; 
Though her portion be the scaffold. 

And upon the throne be Wrong, 
Yet that scaffold sways the future. 

And, behind the dim unknown, 
Standeth God within the shadow. 

Keeping watch above his own. 

James Russell Lowell. 



PATRIOTISM. 

Breathes there the man with soul so dead. 
Who never to himself hath said, 

"This is my own, my native land?" 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned. 
As home his footsteps he hath turned. 

From wandering on a foreign strand? 
If such there breathes, go, marl5 him well: 
For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung. 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sis Walteb Scott. 



AMERICA. 

My country, 'tis of thee. 
Sweet land of liberty. 

Of thee I sing: 
Land where my fathers died. 
Land of the pilgrims' pride, 
From every mountain-side 

Let freedom ring! 

My native country, thee — 
Land of the noble free — 

Thy name I love; 
I love thy rocks and rills. 
Thy woods and templed hills; 
My heart with rapture thrills 

Like that above. 

Let music swell the breeze. 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song! 
Let mortal tongues awake: 
Let all that breathe partake; 
Let rocks their silence break — 

The sound prolong! 

Our fathers' God! to thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To thee we sing; 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light; 
Protect us by thy might. 

Great God, our King! 

Samuel Fkancis Smith. 



152 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



OUR GOAL AND GLORY. 

As down a hundred stairs we gaze, 

A hundred stairs of time; 
As upward still our eyes we raise, 

As upward still we climb, — 

■WIe see the vales and hills behind. 

The vales and hills before; 
WIe see the goals we hope to find, 

And see the goals passed o'er. 

O'er every sea and shore we read. 

All men are equal born; 
The noblest thought and noblest deed 

Hath noblest glory worn. 

May every victory we win 

Be won by tireless toil, 
No battle smoke or battle din 

Our growing glory foil. 

As long as stars above us shine. 

Or grass beneath shall grow. 
Peace round us sheds her light divine, 

And Truth her radiant glow. 

The God of all the stars and flowers 

Around us throw his shield. 
And make this happy land of ours 

A bloodless battle-field. 

Where Truth shall fight her battles hard. 

And win her triumphant way. 
And Right shall be the brave watchword. 

And conquer every day. 

May this be Freedom's dearest home. 

Her happiest, holiest shrine. 
That, till to Freedom's heaven we come. 

Her fires may deathless shine. 

Maj GAery hungry, homeless heart. 

Where'er on earth it beat. 
Find here a hearth-stone always bright. 

A welcome always sweet. 

Lydia M. Millard. 



THE SOLDIERS REST. 

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 
Dream of battle-fields no more, 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall 

Hands ujiseen thy couch are strewing. 
Fairy strains of music fall. 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of battle-fields no more; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking 
Morn of toil nor night of waking. 

No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 
Armor's clang or war-steed champing. 

Trump nor pibroch summon here. 

Mustering clan or squadron tramping; 

Tet the lark's shrill fife may come 
At the day-break from the fallow. 



And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders cliallenge here. 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing. 
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. 

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; 

While our slumb'rous spells assail ye. 
Dream not, witli the rising sun. 

Bugles Iiere shall sound reveille. 
Sleep! the deer is in his den; 

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; 
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen. 

How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest; thy chase is done. 
Think not of the rising sun. 
For at dawning to assail ye. 
Here no bugle sounds reveille. 

SiK Walter Scott. 



THE TITANIC. 

IJu'it before midnij-'bt on April 14, 1912, the 
steamsliip 7'itanic, bound from Liver[tool to New 
York on lifr maiden voyage, struck an iceberg when 
about one tl)ousand miles from New York. Within four 
hours from the time of the impact she sank, causing 
the loss of over sixteen hundred lives. She was the 
largest, newest, and finest steamship afloat; and as 
she was beheved to be unsinkable. her supply of life- 
boats was inadequate. Scarcely one-third of the peo- 
ple on board were saved. ] 

Now, this was the work of the hand of 
man, the dream of a prideful brain. 

That the wrath that sleeps in the rolling 
deep might waken to strength in vain. 

We builded a ship that was one of might, 
we builded it stanch and strong; 

We forged its keel to its ribs of steel, we 
fashioned it wide and long; 

"We said there was naught tiiat might hum- 
ble it, no power in sea or sky — 

And it broke as a crumb 'twixt finger and 
thumb when the ocean made reply. 

There were long, long decks where the gay 

folk strolled; the wake was a white, 

wliite foam; 
And the jewels 

dreamed of 

tlieni liome. 
There were billows high tliat the bow cleft 

fair and as scornfuilly tossed aside; 
For the ship was great and it hastened 

straight, with no halting for wind or 

tide. 
We said there was naught that might bid 

it pause, no power in wind or wave — 
But an echoing surge is the only dirge that 

is murmured above its grave. 

Now, tlie sea is deep and the sea is strange 

and is jealous of all men do; 
And it takes its toll as its billows roll, and 

it answers with wreck and rue. 
It has been unchained since the birth of 

time, and it palsies the hand of man 
Though lie work in pride and with faith 

beside in his cunning toil and plan. 
We said of the ship it would keep its 

course, and mock at the sky and sea — 



slcamed and the people 
the strength Uiat bare 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



153 



Then a swift-cauglit breath, and the call 
of death in a mocking and strident key. 

Now, this was the work of the hand of 
man — a mighty and wondrous thing — 

And we told tlie sea it no more miglit be 
over man and his works the king. 

We made it as strong as a liundred ships 
that threaded the seas of yore — 

And it lies today wliere the long swells 
play through the wrecks on tlie ocean's 
floor. 

We said there was naught that might hum- 
ble it, no power in sea or sky — 

And it broke as a. crumb 'twixt finger and 
thumb wlien the ocean made reply. 

WlI.BUR D. Nesbitt. 



PAUL REVERE S RIDE. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteentli of April, in seventy-flve; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend: "If the British march 
By land or sea from the town tonight, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal 

light- 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 
And I on the opposite sliore will be. 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Tlirough every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then said he, "Good-night!" and with muf- 
fled oar 
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 
Just as the moon rose over the bay, 
■\^'here swinging wide at her moorings lav 
The Somerset, British man-of-war — 
A pliantom sliip, with each mast and spar 
Across the moon like a prison bar, 
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 
By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and 

street. 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door. 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed to the tower of the church. 
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from their perch 
On the somber rafters, that round him made 
Masses and moving shapes of shade — 
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall. 
To the highest window in the wall. 
Where he paused to listen, and look down, 
A moment on the roofs of the town. 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 



Beneath, in tlie church-yard, lay the dead. 

In their night-encampment on the hill. 

Wrapped in silence so deep and still 

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread. 

The watchful night-wind, as it went 

Creeping along from tent to tent. 

And seeming to whisper, "All Is well!" 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret 

dread 
Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
On a shadowy something far away, 
\\niere the river widens to meet the bay — 
A line of black that bends and floats 
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 
Now gazed at the landscape far and near. 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and somber and still — 
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns. 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the 

dark. 
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, 

a spark 
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and 

fleet: 
That was all! And yet through the gloom 

and the light 
The fate of a nation ws.s riding that night; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, in 

his flight. 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village, and mounted the 

steep, 
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and 

deep. 
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean-tides; 
And under the alders, that skirt its edge. 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the 

ledge. 
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides 

It was twelve by the village clock 
■When he crossed the bridge into Medford 

town. 
He heard the crowing of the cock. 
And the barking of the farmer's dog. 
And felt the damp of the river-fog. 
That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock 
When he galloped into Lexington. 
He saw the gilded weathercock 
Swim in the moonlight as he passed. 



154 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And the meeting-house windows, blank and 

bare, 
Gaze at him with a spectral glare. 
As if they already stood aghast, 
At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock 

When he came to the bridge in Concord 

town. 
He heard the bleating of the flock. 
And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
And felt the breath of the morning breeze 
Blowing over the meadows brown. 
And one was safe and asleep in his bed 
■RTio at the bridge would be first to fall. 
Who that day would be lying dead. 
Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have 

read 
How the British Regulars fired and fled: 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farm-yard 

wall. 
Chasing the redcoats down the lane. 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere, 
And so through the night went his cry of 

alarm 
To every Middlesex village and farm — 
A cry of defiance, and not of fear, 
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door. 
And a word that shall echo forevermore! 
For, borne on the night-wind of the pa.st, 
Through all history, to the last. 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need. 
The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed. 
And the midnight message of Paul Revere 
Henry AYadswortu Longfellow. 



A RACE FOR LIFE. 

A gun is heard at the dead of night— 

"Lifeboat ready!" 
And every man, to the signal true, 
Fights for place in the eager crew. 

"Now, lads! steady!" 
First a glance at the shuddering foam. 
Now a look at the loving liome. 
Then together, with bated breath. 
They launch their boat in the gulf of death. 

Over the breakers wild, 

Little they reck of weather. 

But tear their way 

Througli blinding spray. 

Hear tlie skipper clieer and say, 

"Up with her, lads, and lift her! 

All together!" 

Tliey see the ship in a sudden flash 

Sinking ever. 
And grip their oars with a deeper breatli; 
Now it's come to a fight with death, 

Now or never! 
Fifty strokes, and they're at her side. 



If they live in the boiling tide. 

If they last through the awful strife. 

Ah, my lads, it's a race for life! 

Over the breakers wild. 

Little they reck of weather. 

But tear their way 

Through blinding spray. 

Hear tlie skipper cheer aiid say, 

"Up with her, lads, and lift her! 

All together!" 

And loving hearts are on the shore, 

Hoping, fearing; 
Till over the sea there comes a cheer, 
Then the click of the oars you hear 

Homeward steering — 
Ne'er a thought of the danger past. 
Now the lads are on land at last; 
What's a storm to a gallant crew 
Who race for life, and wtio win it, too? 

Over the breakers wild, 

Little they reck of weatlier. 

But tear tlieir way 

Through blinding spray. 

Hear the skipper cheer and say, 

"Up with her, lads, and lift her! 

AH together!" 

J. L. MOLLOY. 



THE DEATH OF NATHAN HALE. 

[Natban Haie was a .vounf.' Revulutionary patriot 
who met his death under circumstances that have 
made him famous in American histor.v. He volun- 
teered to visit Long Island and New York (then held 
by the British) to secure some much-needed informa- 
tion from the enemy. Entering tlie British lines dis- 
guised as a Dutch school-teacher, he obtained the de- 
sired information, and was about to return, when he 
was recognized and captured. On the following morn- 
ing he was hung as a spy, having been denied the 
use of a Bible or a visit from a minister, and hav- 
ing had the letters which he had written to his 
mother and his fiancee destro.ved before his eye^. His 
last words were. "I only regret that I have but one 
life to lose for my country."] 

"Speed, speed thee forth," said Washington, 
On Harlem's battle-plain, 

"For yonder lies the British foe; 

Bring back his plans of battle. Go!" 
The volunteer of twenty-one, 

"Whose heart was never known to quail, 
Bowed, heard his orders, bowed again — 

'Twas Captain Nathan Hale. 

One night when shone the liarvest-moon, 
His boat shot tlirough llie spray. 

Blithely across the starlit sound 

To where upon Manhattan's ground 
The British were encamped, and soon 

The soldier-boy was on their trail — 
Captured their plans — "Now for the fray," 

Cried fearless Nathan Hale. 

But e'er his noble task was done 
Within the foeman's bounds, 

A yell came up from Briton throats, 

He saw their shining scarlet coats — 
"WTiat, ho! a spy from Washington!" 

Ah, Heaven! was he doomed to fail? 
As round a hare sprin,g famislied hounds, 

They closed round Nathan Hale. 



PATRIOTISM, FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



155 



Condemned to death, the hero lay, 
With shackles on his limbs. 

And memory brought New London 

town. 
His sweetheart with her curls of brown, 
His anxious mother old and gray; 

Alas! how will they hear the tale? 
A welcome tear the blue eye dims 
Of valiant Xatlian Hale. 

They led him forth raid gibes and jeers, 
To meet the patriot's fate; 

The solace of God's Holy Word 

He asked, but ne'er a Briton stirred; 
Their oaths still fell upon his ears; 

Their robber flag waved in the gale; 
Their eyes, flred by revenge and hate. 

Were fixed on Nathan Hale. 

Like bloodhounds eager for his gore. 
They cried, "Hang the spy!" 

Undaunted there the hero stands. 

And, lifting up his shackled hands. 
The while his captors raved and swore, 

A flush came o'er his cheek so pale; 
"Back cowards! I'll show you how to die! " 

Cried noble Nathan Hale. 

"A hundred lives ye knaves accurst. 
I'd yield, and bliss were crowned. 

To burn that blood-stained ray o'erhead. 

And raise the stars and stripes instead. 
I'm ready now; fiends, do your worst. 

To Freedom's glorious dawn all hail!" 
The hangman's rope is thrown around 

The neck of Nathan Hale. 

Forgotten? Ne'er while Freedom's stars 
Shine forth in deathless light. 

From out the flag he loved so well, 
For which he lived and fought and fell. 
His guerdon was the soldier's scars, 

And death far from his native vale — 
Brave heart, that throbbed for love and 
right. 
Brave soldier, Nathan Hale- 

ECGEND Geart. 



SOMEBODY S DARLING. 

Into a ward of the whitewashed halls. 

Where the dead and dying lay. 
Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, 

Somebody's darling was borne one day — 
Somebody's darling, so young and so brave, 

Wearing yet on his pale, sweet face, 
S"on to be hid by the dust of the grave. 

The lingering light of his boyhood's 
'''•ace. 

Matted and damp are the curls of gold. 

Kissing the snow of the fair young brow; 
Pale are the lips of delicate mold — 

Somebody's darling is dying now. 
Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow. 

Brush all the wandering waves of gold: 
Cross his hands on his bosom now — . 

Somebody's darling is still and cold. 



Kiss him once for somebody's sake. 

Murmur a prayer both soft and low; 
One bright curl from its fair mates take — 

They are somebody's pride, you know; 
Somebody's hand hath rested there — 

Was it a mother's soft and white? 
And have the lips of a sister fair 

Been baptized in their waves of light? 

God knows best! He was somebody's love: 

Somebody's heart enshrined him there; 
Somebody wafted his name above. 

Night and morn, on the wings of prayer; 
Somebody wept when he marched away. 

Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; 
Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay; 

Somebody clung to his parting hand. 

Somebody's waiting and watching for him, 

learning to hold him again to her heart; 
And there he lies with his blue eyes dim. 

And the smiling childlike lips apart. 
Tenderly bury the fair young dead, 

Pausing to drop on his grave a tear; 
Carve in the wooden slab at his head, 

"Somebody's darling slumbers here." 
Maris R. I.acosth. 



CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred 
"Forward, the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns!" he said; 
Into the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred. 

"Forward, the Light Brigade!" 
Was there a man dismayed? 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered; 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die; 
Into the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon in front of them. 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and shell 
Boldly they rode and well; 
Into the jaws of death. 
Into the mouth of hell. 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabers bare 
Flashed as they turned in air. 
Sabering the gunners there. 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered; 
Plunged in the battery-smoke. 
Right through the line they brdke: 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the .saber-stroKe, 

Shattered and sundered. 



156 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Then they rode back, but not — 
Not the six hii^ndred. 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon behind them. 

Volleyed and thundered; 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
"WHiile horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Back from the mouth of hell, — 
Came through the jaws of death 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

Wlien can their glory fade? 
Oh, the wild charge they made! 

All the world wondered. 
Honor tlie cliarge tliey made! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred! 

Alfrku Tennyson. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled. 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver. 

Asleep are tlie ranks of the dead; 
Under the sod and tlie dew, 

Wlaiting the judgment-day; 
Under the one, the Blue, 

Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory. 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 

In the dusk of eternity meet: 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 

Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go. 
Lovingly laden with flowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe: 
Under the sod fiTid the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the roses, the Blue. 

Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor. 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
■WJth a touch impartially tender. 

On the blossoms blooming for all: 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue, 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth 

On forest and field of grain. 
With an equal murmur falleth 

The cooling drip of the rain; 
Under tlie sod and the de\\, 

Waitin'-r the .!udsment-da> ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue. 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 



Sadly, but not witli upbraiding. 

The generous deed was done; 
In the stoi-m of the years that are fading 

No braver battle was won: 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-day; 
Under the blossoms the Blue, 

Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
The.v banish our anger forever. 

When they laurel the graves of our dead: 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment-da>'; 
Love and tears for the Blue, 

Tears and love for the Gray. 

F. M. Finch. 



THE NEW PAUL REVERE. 

[Before tUe frightful rush of w.itor.s which, oa 
May .^1. 18S9, brought death to thousand-s of people 
in the Conemaugh Valley, Pennsylvania, in which 
.lohnstowD is situated, an unknown man. mounted 
on a large ba.v liorse. rode niadl.v down the turnpike, 
.shouting. "Run for your lives! To the hill.s! To 
the hills!" Dashing onward with the flooil liehind 
liini, be never rhecked his desperate speed or 
ceased his cry of warning till the great waTe of 
foaming waters submerged him. ] 

A cloud of dust in Johnstown's street, 
The sound of a hor.se's flying- feet. 
And down the road, at a fearful speed. 
Like a lightning flash, comes a gallant steed. 
There's scarce a glimpse of the rider's face, 
.\s the horse skims on at his maddened pace. 
But loud on the air the warning thrills, 
"Run for your lives! To tlie hills! To the 

hills!" 
The startled people gather round. 
As the horse leaps on with mighty bound. 
"Who is the man?" "Whence has he come?" 
Are tlie eager ciuestions asked by some, 
Willie some are dumb with a sickening fear 
As th9 warning words ring loud and clear. 
And echo back, on the stirring breeze. 
As swift through the street the rider flees. 
Still, fast and faster, upon his course, 
His voice grows still more wild and hoarse, 
As, over and over, he shouts aloud 
His warning cry to the startled crowd. 
To children at play, to maids and wives, 
"To the hills! To the hills! Run for your 

lives!" 
And only the rider knows the need 
Of the cruel race or the reckless speed. 
But the awful riddle is solved at last, 
And the torrent comes. O God! so fast, 
Chasing the rider along his course. 
On, on it comes with a fearful force; 
Down the alleys and swift along. 
O'erturning, alike, the weak and strong:. 
Engulfing them all in its billows dread. 
Forms of the living, forms of the dead. 
Ponderous buildings that meet and crash. 
As the surging billows around them dash; 
On speeds the rider, on sweeps the wave, 
No hand is raised, no power can save. 
And buried at last, 'neath the torrent's 

height. 



PATRIOTIS>f. FREEDOM, HEROISM. 



1S7 



The horse and rider are swept from sight. 
The few who heeded the warning^ well. 
And fled to the hills, shall live to tell 
The story over, in after-years. 
With thankful hearts and silent tears, 
And a prayer for blessings on the head 
Of that hero among the nameless dead. 
And ye who sing of the days of old, 
Of its faithful knights so brave and bold, 
Oh, was there ever, in ancient time, 
A knight more worthy of poet's rhyme 
Than the valiant rider who swiftly sped 
To warn the town of its danger dread? 
O hero, brave, with an unknown name, 
None, none can tell us whence you came; 
But we write your name on history's page, 
"The Paul Revere of the present age." 

Nettie H. Pelham. 



THE DEATHLESS HEART. 

The names ran riot o'er roof and wall. 
And wrapped tlie house in a lurid pall. 

Through the glare and smoke, through the 

din and heat. 
All eyes upturned in the crowded street. 

We're filled with pity and yearning fear 
For the children thought to be dying there! 

Just at that moment of speechless dread 
At an upper window the curly head 

Of a girl of twelve in the red light shone. 
Her arms in the tenderest fashion thrown 

Round her weeping brother of five years old. 
And her dark locks blent with his locks 
of gold. 

The people urged her to leap in vain 
^V'Tiile the sparks came down like a fiery 
rain. 

And the boy was dropped in the widening 

glow 
To the haven of outstretched arms below 

The girl rushed back through the eddying 

smoke 
And never a word to the watchers spoke. 

But swiftly again to the window came 

A babe in her i^rms and her clothes aflame. 

She wrapped the baby in blankets tight 
And leaped at once with her burden light 

To the eager hands that were opened wide, 
Fronting the crest of the crimson tide. 



The infant, happy and safe at last. 

Was quite unharmed by the perila t>^-,jiied. 

But the sister who saved her, though 

breathing still, 
Was beyond the reach of all mortal skill. 

The fire had fed on her cheeks so fair. 
Nor left the ghost of a dimple there. 

Xo trace remained of her eye so bright — 
Those marvelous wells of truth and light. 

And her hair where the sunbeams had loved 

to stray. 
Like sudden darkness had passed away. 

The doctor told her, in gentlest tone. 
She must go through the valley of death 
alone. 

For his healing art and his wish were vain 
To bring her back to the world again. 

"Oh, thank you, Doctor! But, don't mind me. 
I know you, sir, though I can not see. 

"I've saved our Robbie and Baby, too; 
'Twas almost more than I hoped to do. 

"But now I'm tired and feel some pain. 
And I hear a voice like a far-off rain, 

"Or is it — because I know he is near — 
Oh! tell me, sir, is it Christ I hear? 

"Our Savior will take me to his kind breast. 
Where the weary cease — you know the 
rest — " 

With the words unfinished, but smiling said, 
The girl sank back on the pillow — dead! 

WTien the body was wrapped in its wind- 
ing-sheet, 

"Twas found that the terrible smoke and 
heat 

Had raged and reveled in every part, 

But had left unscathed the stainless heart. 

Tne watchers whispered below their breath, 
"What a wonderful token of life in death!" 

And. a poet, standing in silence near. 
Spoke out in a tremulous voice yet clear: 

"The flame in reverence dared not touch 
Tne loyal heart that had done so mucli; 

"For more than all temples of earth iy art 
Is one grand deed of a deathless heart." 
Paul Hamii^ton Hatn». 



SENTIMENT 

and 
REFLECTION 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



161 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



LITTLE THINGS. 

Tha flower is small that decks the field, 
The bee is small that bends the flower, 

But flower and bee alike may yield 
Food for a thoughtful hour. 

Essence and attributes of each 

For ends profound combine: 
And all they are, and all they teach. 

Springs from the mind Divine. 

Is there who scorneth little thing-s? 

As wisely mig-ht lie scorn to eat 
The food that bounteous autumn brings 

In little grains of wheat. 

Methinks, indeed, that such an one 
Few pleasures upon earth will find. 

Where well-nish every good is won 
From little things combined. 

The lark that in the morning air 

Amid the sunbeams mounts and sings — 

What lifted her so liglitly there? 
Small feathers in her wings. 

What form, too, when the beauteous dyes 
With which all nature oft is bright. 

Meadows and streams, woods, hills, and 
skies? 
Minutest waves of light. 

And when the earth is sere and sad 
From summer's over-fervid reign, 

How is she in fresh beauty clad? 
By little drops of rain. 

Tea, and the robe that Nature weaves. 
Whence does it every robe surpass? 

From little flowers, and little leaves. 
And little blades of grass. 

Oh, sure, who scorneth little things, 
If he were not a thoughtless elf. 

Far above all that round him springs. 
Would scorn his little self. 

Thomas Davis. 



THE EVENING HOUR. 

Sweet evening hour! dear evening hour! 
That calms the air and shuts the flower; 
That brings the wild bird to its nest. 
The infant to its mother's breast. 

Sweet hour! that bids the laborer cease; 

That gives the weary team release. 

And leads them home, and crowns them 

there 
With rest and shelter, food and care. 

O season of soft sounds and hues; 
Of twilight walks among the dews; 
Of tender memories, converse sweet, 
And thoughts too shado'wy to repeat! 



Yes, lovely hour! thou art the time 
When feelings flow and wishes climb. 
When timid souls begin to dare, 
And God receives and answers prayer. 

Then, trembling, from the vaulted skies 
The stars look out, like thouglitful eyes 
Of angels calm reclining there. 
And gazing on our world of care. 

Sweet hour! for heavenly musing made. 
When Isaac walked, and Daniel prayed, 
Wlien Abram's ofl■erin^'s God did own, 
And man may worship Him alone! 



THE DUTIES OF TODAY. 

Oft we ponder, looking yonder. 

At a duty far ahead; 
Often fretting, and forgetting 

Those about us where we tread. 

The duties nearest are the dearest: 
They are not so far away ; 

Sweetest flowers, they are ours. 
Growing at our feet today. 

Be possessing present blessing. 
Wait not for tomorrow's shower; 

There's a beauty In each duty. 
Bringing payment every hour. 

Look not backward, live not forward. 
Grand and glorious is today; 

Let us give it while we live it 
All the honor that we may. 

Pastures greenest, waters cleanest, 
Where the Shepherd leads today; 

Of tomorrow need we borrow 
While he feeds us on the way? 



THE LESSON OF CONTENT. 

Never fret yourself to see 

All the things that others have; 
Take your lot contentedly. 

It is better to be brave. 
Cheerful, self-reliant, strong, 

Craving naught by God denied. 
Than to join the restless throng, 

Sated, yet unsatisfied. 

Never fret yourself to do 

More than lies within your power; 
Let your work be always true. 

Steady, patient, hour by hour. 
It is better far to build 

Good foundations, slow and sure. 
Than to rear in haste unskilled 

Towers whose strength Is insecure. 

PRISCILLA LeoNABD. 



162 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



SUNSHINE BEYOND. 

Though clouds of sorrow often fall 

Within this world of ours, 
There still is sunshine (or us all, 

With passing of life's show'rs. 

The flower, beaten by life's storms, 

Will often raise its head. 
And bloom again in loveliness, 

When new sunshine is shed. 

Though storms may oft oppress the soul. 

And fill it with despair, 
Do not despond and cease to hope. 

For life will grow more fair. 

Mahtha Shepard LrpPINCOTT. 



THE WISE CHOICE. 

"Oh, give me fame!" a youth once cried 

When touched by Fortune's wand, 
"A fame that shines from shore to shore 

And is known in every land. 
And I will never ask again 

Or seek more from thy hand." 
Through years he grew and grew in fame 

A lawyer great was he. 
That wielded well the legal power 

For gain and petty fee 
Until bound down by greed of gain. 

No longer was he free 

"Oh! give me power," an artist cried, 

"To paint with steady hand 
A picture that shall far excel 

All others In the land, 
And I shall have the riches all 

That aught could e'er demand." 
He painted then a picture true; 

Folks marveled at the deed. 
He soon won fame and wealth and power, 

But, seized upon by greed. 
All slipped away — power, wealth, and fame — - 

And left him sore in need. 

"Oh! give me power to rule the land. 

To sway affairs of state. 
And I'll have wealth and power and fame. 

And will be truly great. 
And never, never will deplore 

Or wish to change my fate." 
Time passed, and power was given him; 

Of state he held the rein. 
Until upon his conscience clear 

Was left full many a stain. 
For ah ! so many deeds of shame 

He did alone for gain. 

"Oh! give me wealth, on every hand 

To gain me thousand fold; 
Take fame, take power, take honor all, 

But give me yellow gold. 
My heart will be as light and free 

As ^"as the gods of old." 
Then wealth was given to the youth; 

Without his least endeavor. 
It quickly gained a thousandfold. 

Wealth proved a powerful lever 



That robbed the youth of honor bright 
And doomed his soul forever. 

"Oh! give me wisdom, grace, and peace. 

A heart of purity, 
An honest word that's always good 

For any surety. 
And I will always live content 

Throughout futurity." 
The youth was given wisdom grand 

And purity of thought; 
Then honor came, with fame and wealth 

And glory all unsought. 
Tet he despised the baser things, 

For which the weaker sought. 

O youth, choose wisdom while you may; 

Let those who will choose pelf. 
Contentment's yours with fame assured. 

And these alone are wealth: 
While conscience clear will loud proclaim 

Tou are an honor to yourself. 

Lorain McLain, 



A LESSON, 

I wandered 'neath a cloudless sky 

(Jna lovely autumn day. 
Through ferny dells, by rippling rills. 

Where flitting shadows play, 
Wliere soft and sweet the thrushes' song 
Through balsam groves is borne along. 

I rested in the cool deep shade, 
Wiiere wild deer find a home, 

WTiere soft-eyed rabbits rear their young, 
And cunning foxes roam, 

Wliere ruflled grouse their chickens lead, 

And brown bears on the beechnuts feed. 

I filled my arms with goldenrod 

And odorous sweet fern; 
Then, as the shadows deeper grew, 

I said, "I will return" — 
But, lo! the path I cou.ld not gain; 
Search where I would, I searched in vain. 

Through black-muck swamps, and tangled 
weeds. 

And ancient birches gray, 
Through fragrant flag and underbrush, 

I vainly sought my way, 
'Til, as the sun was sinking low. 
My tired feet refused to go. 

I rested long, and then I saw 
My pathway straight and clear. 

And after all my sore distress 
My home was very near; 

For by a way that I know not 

I gained the haven I had sought. 

I looked up to the calm, clear sky, 
Deep thoughts within me burned; 

My soul cried out, "Remember well 
This lesson you have learned. 

And know when darkest seems the night 

Tou may be nearest joy and light." 

I. L. Lewis. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



163 



JUDGE NOT. 

Judge not. The workings of his brain 
And of his heart thou canst not see; 

W^at looks to thy dim eyes a stain, 
In God's pure light may only be 

A sear brouglit from some well-won field, 

Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. 

The look, the air, that frets thy sight, 

May be a token that below 
The soul has closed in deadly fight 

■^'ijth soma infernal foe, 
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling 

face, 
And cast thee shuddering on thy face. 



The fall thou darest to despis 

May be the angel's slackening hand 

Has suffered it, that he may rise 
And take a firmer, surer stand; 

Or, trusting less to earthly things. 

May henceforth learn to use his wings. 

And Judge none lost, but wait and see, 
"With hopeful pity, not disdain: 

The deptli of the abyss may be 
The measure of the height of pain. 

And love and glory that may raise 

This soul to God in after-days! 

ADELAIDE] A. PBOOTEK. 



SPEAK GENTLY. 

Speak gently; it is better far 

To rule by love than fear. 
Speak gently; let no harsh words mar 

The good we might do here. 

Speak gently. Love doth whisper low 
The vows that true hearts bind. 

And gently friendship's accents flow; 
Affection's voice Is kind. 

Speak gently to the little child. 

Its love be sure to gain; 
Teach it in accents soft and mild — 

It may not long remain. 

Speak gently to the young, for they 

Will have enougli to bear; 
Pass through this life as best they may, 

'Tis full of anxious care. 

Speak gently to the aged one. 
Grieve not the care-worn heart; 

The sands of life are nearly run. 
Let such in peace depart. 

Speak gently, kindly to the poor, 

Let no harsh tone be heard; 
They have enough they must endure 

Without an unkind word. 

Speak gently to the erring — know 

How frail are all! how vain! 
Perchance unkindness made them so. 

Oh! win them back again. 



Speak gently. He who gave his life 
To bend man's stubborn will. 

When elements were in fierce strife, 
Said to them, "Peace, be still." 

Speak gently; 'tis a little thing 
Dropped in the heart's deep well; 

The good, the joy, which it may bring. 
Eternity shall tell. 

David Bates. 



SCATTER SEEDS OF KINDNESS. 

Let us gather up the sunbeams. 

Lying all around our path; 
Let us keep the wheat and roses. 

Casting out the thorns and chaff; 
Let us find our sweetest comfort 

In the blessings of today. 
With a patient hand removing 

All the briers from the way. 

Strange we never prize the music 

Till the sweet-voiced bird is flown! 
Strange that we should slight the violets 

Till the lovely flowers are gone! 
Strange that summer skies and sunihlne 

Never seem one-half so fair, 
As when winter's snowy pinions 

Shake the white down in tlie air. 

If we knew the baby fingers. 

Pressed against the window pane. 
Would be cold and stiff tomorrow — 

Never trouble us again — 
Would the bright eyes of our darling 

Catch the frown upon our brow? 
Would the prints of rosy fingers 

Vex us then as they do now? 

Ah! those little ice-cold fingers. 

How they point our memories back 
To the hasty words and actions 

Strewn along our backward track! 
How those little hands remind us, 

As in snowy grace they lie. 
Not to scatter thorns, but roses. 

For our reaping by and by. 

Mrs. Albert -Smith, 



THOSE WE LOVE THE BEST. 

They say this world is round, and yet 

I often think it square. 
So many little hurts we get 

From corners here and there. 
But one great truth in life I've found, 

■While journeying to the west — 
The only folks who really wound 

Are those we love the best. 

Those you may thoroughly despise 

Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true; 
Annoyance in your heart will rise 

At what mere strangers do; 
But those are only passing ills; 

This rule all lives will prove: 
The rankling wound which aches and thrills 

Is dealt by hands we love. 



164 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



The choicest garb, the sweetest grace, 

Are oft to strangers shown; 
The careless mien, the frowning face. 

Are given to our own. 
We flatter those we scarcely know. 

We please the fleeting guest. 
And deal full many a thoughtless blow 

To those who love us best. 

Love does not grow on every tree. 

Nor true hearts yearly bloom; 
Alas for those who only see 

This cut across a tomb! 
But soon or late the fact grows plain 

To all, through sorrow's test. 
The only folks who give us pain 

Are those we love the best. 



TO KNOW ALL IS TO FORGIVE 
ALL." 

If I knew you and you knew me; 
If both of us could clearly see, 
And with an inner sight divine 
The meaning of your heart and mine, 
I'm sure that we should differ less 
And clasp our hands in friendliness: 
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree 
If I knew you and you knew me. 

If I knew you and you knew me. 

As each one knows his own self, we 

Could look each other in the face 

And see therein a truer grace. 

Life has so many hidden woes. 

So many thorns for every rose; 

The "why" of things our hearts would see 

If I knew you and you knew me. 

Nixon Watersjan. 



GOOD-BY. GOD BLESS YOU. 

I like the Anglo-Saxon speech, 

With its direct revealings; 
It takes a hold and seems to reach 

Far down into your feelings. 
That some folks deem it rude, I know. 

And therefore the.\' abuse it; 
But I have never found it so. 

Before all else I choose it. 
I don't object that men should air 

The Gallic they have paid for, 
"WTien "au revoir," **adieu, ma chere," 

For that's what French was made for; 
But when a crony takes your hand 

At parting to address you. 
He drops all foreign lingo, and 

He says, "Good-by, God bless you!" 

This seems to me a sacred phrase. 

With reverence impassioned; 
A thing come down from the righteous day, 

Quaintly, but nobly fashioned. 
It well becomes an honest face, 

A voice that's round and cheerful; 
It stays the sturdy in his place. 

And soothes the weak and fearful; 



Into the porches of tlie ears 

It steals with subtle unction. 
And in your heart of hearts appears 

To work its gracious function; 
And all day long with pleasing song 

It lingers to caress you.. 
I'm sure no human heart goes wrong 

That's told "Good-by, God bless you!" 

I love the words, perhaps because 

WTien I was leaving mother, 
Standing at last in solemn pause 

We looked at one another, 
And I — I saw in mother's eyes 

The love she could not tell me, 
A love eternal as the skies. 

Whatever fate befell me. 
She put her arms about my neck. 

And soothed the pain of leaving, 
And though her heart was like to break. 

She spoke no word of grieving; 
She let no tear bedim her eye, 

For fear that might distress me. 
But, kissing me, she said, "Good-by," 

And asked our God to bless me. 

Eugene Field. 



I D RATHER. 

I'd rather write one heavenly thought 
To shed its sunlight on the years; 

I'd rather know that I have wrought 
Some kindness, wiped away some tears. 

Or given a hope to banish care 
And lift a fainting heart above. 

Or helped my brother's grief to bear. 
And gained that wondrous goal — his love. 

Than sit on earthly throne with kings. 
And sway the scepter of their fame — 

Oh! wealth and fame are little things 
Compared with goodness in a name. 

I'd rather be a fragrant flower, 
To bloom in purity — then die. 

Fulfilling in a single hour 

My mission 'neath the sunny sky. 

Than gain the transient fading goal 

For which so many hearts have striven; 

I'd rather open all my soul 

And drink the hallowed light of Heaven 

And if His presence still may come. 
And go with me and give me rest, 

I'd rather cease to mourn and roam 
And lean upon the Savior's breast. 

I'd rather leave earth's weary pain 

To those who will but plod and moil. 

And ever with my heart remain 
Far from the tumult and the toil. 

I'd rather hear His voice of peace. 
And blend my soul with Him, and be 

Wlhere raging of the waves must cease, 
And toiling on the weary sea. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



165 



Then, oh! from out that sheltered home 
I'd reach, and heavenly love impart. 

Until my spirit should become 
A home for every weary heart. 

Mrs. MARTQ^t WlNTEEMUTB. 



BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 

Beautiful faces are those that wear — 
It matters little if dark or fair— 
Wlhole-souled honesty printed there. 

Beautiful eyes are those that show. 
Like crystal panes where heart-fires glow. 
Beautiful thoughts that burn below. 

Beautiful lips are those whose words 
Leap from the heart like son^s of birds, 
Tet whose utterance prudence girds. 

Beautiful hands are those that do 
Work that is earnest and brave and true, 
Moment by moment the long day through. 

Beautiful feet are those that go 
On kindly ministries to and fro — 
Down lowliest wa\", if God wills it so. 

Beautiful shoulders are tliose that bear 
Ceaseless burdens of homely care 
T^ith patient grace and daily prayer. 

Beautiful lives are those that bless — 

Silent rivers of happiness 

■VNTaose hidden fountains but few may guess. 



THE UNWRITTEN SONG. 

Some song unwritten, all have heard. 

But not with mortal ear; 
It breathes without one spoken word. 

In music, sweet and clear. 
Down, floating from the dream-like past. 

It murmurs, to recall 
The scenes that dimly still are cast 

On memory's fading wall. 

The organ's peal may thrill indeed. 

And jo.vs of tone impart, 
But tones that we, as mortals, heed. 

Are only notes of art. 
In silence, and in solitude, 

AVhere moves no bus,\' throng. 
Nor cares of grosser life intrude, 

Wa hear the sweeter song. 

Sometimes, far off it seems, and then 

In nearer cadence swells. 
As floats adown some sylvan glen 

The chime of evening bells. 
How few there are who have not known 

Some song the.v could not sing. 
But each one for himself alone. 

May hear its whispering. 

As with the spirit's eye, in dreams. 

Things beautiful we see. 
Or catch in slumber's hour the gleams 

Of brighter scenes to he; 



So, far away, through heaven's bounds. 

The music of the spheres. 
In harmony of silent sounds, 

The soul in rapture hears. 

There is a song that comes to each — 

It's music undefined — 
Whose mystic strains the heart may reach. 

And all its chords unbind. 
These strains, that oft our spirits haunt, 

Do not to earth belong. 
For only angel-voices chant 

The soul's unwritten song. 

A. R. Fulton. 



THE CORRECT ORDER. 

'Tis first the true and then the beautiful. 

Not first the beautiful and then the true: 

First the wild wood, with rock and fen, and 

pool. 

Then the gay garden, rich in scent and 

hue. 

'Tis first the good and then the beautiful. 
Not first the beautiful and then the good; 
First the rough seed, sown in the rougher 
soil. 
Then the flower blossom or the branch- 
ing vv'ood. 

Not first the glad and then the sorrowful. 
But first the sorrowful and then the glad; 

Tears for a day, for earth of tears is full. 
Then we forget that we \\'ere ever sad. 

Not first the bright and after that the dark. 
But first the dark and after that the 
bright; 
First the thick cloud and then the rain- 
bow's arc; 
First the dark grave, then resurrection 
light. 



IF WE COULD KNOW. 

O fortune-favored heirs of pride, 

Who feel no dail.v round of care. 
Ye little know what ills betide 

The poor, or how the lowly fare. 
Oh! wonder not that soon or late, 

Some, fainting, in the struggle fall; 
Our hearts might pity, more tlian hate. 

If we could onlj' know it all. 

As pestilence may come unseen, 

Nor human skill the scourge control. 
So fate's decree may intervene. 

And mar the beauty of some soul. 
Could we behold, and feel no pain 

For those who drink life's cup of gall. 
Or pass such by, in cold disdain. 

If we could only know it all? 

Mid semblances of joy and mirth. 
There often lurks a secret grief; 

The things men deem of priceless worth. 
May fail to bring the soul relief. 



166 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



We might not envy some who flaunt 
Rich purple robes in gilded hall. 

And yet for something pine in want, 
If we could only know it all. 

'Tis well that we this truth should learn, 

That under rags true hearts may beat. 
While clothed in silks, we oft discern 

Base envy, falsehood, and deceit. 
Not all who pose in dazzling hue 

'Neath gilded domes and steeples tall, 
Might prove at heart, gilt-edged, and true, 

If we could only know it all. 

While modest worth, unknown may plod — 

Its pathway strewn with noble deeds — 
Rank arrogance may only nod. 

And all the world applauding heeds. 
Mere rank of birth no merit brings, 

But lords there are with trappings small, 
Who may not tread in courts of kings. 

If we could only know it all. 

A. R. FnLTON. 



don't let the song go out of 
your life. 

Don't let the song go ou^ of your life; 

Though it chance sometimes to flow 
In a minor strain, it will blend again 

Wlith the major tone, you know. 
What though shadows rise to obscure life's 
skies, 

And hide for a time the sun? 
They sooner will lift, and reveal the rift, 
If you let the melody run. 

Don't let the song go out of your life; 

Though your voice may have lost its trill, 
Though the tremulous note should die in 
your throat, 

Let it sing in your spirit still. 
There is never a pain tliat hides not some 
gain. 

And never a cup of rae 
So bitter to sup but that in the cup 

Lurks a measure of sweetness too. 

Don't let the song go out of your life; 

Ah! it never would need to go, 
If, with thought more true, and a broader 
view. 
We looked at this life below. 
Oh! why should we moan that life's sprin.;;- 
time has flown. 
Or sigh for the fair summer time? 
The autumn hath days filled with pjeans 
of praise, 
And the winter hath bells that chime. 

Don't let the song go out of your life; 

Let it ring in the soul while here. 
And when you go hence it shall follow you 
thence. 

And sing on in another sphere. 
Then do not despond, and say that the fond 

Sweet songs of your life have flown; 
For if ever you knew a song that was true. 

Its music is still your own. 

KiTS R. STILE.'S. 



THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 

There is a quiet spirit in tliese woods, 
That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind 

blows. 
Where, u.nderneath the white-thorn, in the 

glade. 
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the 

soft air. 
The leaves above their sunny palms out- 
spread. 
With what a tender and impassioned voice 
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, 
W)ien the fast ushering star of morning 

comes 
O'erriding the gray hills with golden scarf; 
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled 

Eve, 
In mourning weeds, from out the western 

gate. 
Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves 
In the green valley, where the silver brook. 
From its full laver, pours the white cascade; 
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods. 
Slips down through moss-grown stones 

with endless laughter. 
And, frequent on the everlasting hills. 
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself 
In all the dark embroidery of the storm. 
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And 

here, amid 
The silent majesty of these deep woods. 
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from 

earth. 
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air 
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence 

gifted bards 
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. 
For them there was an eloquent voice in all 
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun. 
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way. 
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle 

winds. 
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun 
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes. 
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky 

looks in, 
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny 

vale, 
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty 

trees. 
In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetic legends to the wind. 
And this is the sweet spirit that doth fill 
The world; and, in these wayward days of 

youth. 
My busy fancy oft embodies it, 
As a brisht image of the light and beauty 
That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms 
"W^e worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 
That stain the wild-bird's wing, and flush 

the clouds 
Wlien the sun sets. Within her tender e.\e 
The heaven of April, with its changing light, 
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung. 
And on her lip the ricli, red rose. Her hair 
Is like the summer tresses of the trees. 
When twilight makes them brown, and on 

her cheek 
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



167 



with ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, 
It is so lilte the gentle air of spring, 
As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it 

comea 
Full of their fragrance, that it is a jcy 
To have it round us; and her silver voice 
Is the rich music of a summer bird. 
Heard in the still night, with its passion- 
ate cadence. 

HSNRt W'ADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



DEAR HOME FACES. 

O Time and Change! — with hair as gray 

As was my sire's that winter day! 

How strange it seems, with so much gone 

Of life and love, to still live on! 

Ah! brother, only I and thou 

Are left of all that circle now — 

The dear home faces whereupon 

That fitfud firelight paled and shone. 

Henceforth, listen as we will. 

The voices of that hearth are still; 

Look where we may, the wide earth o'er. 

Those lighted faces smile no more. 

'We tread the paths their feet have worn. 

We sit beneatli their orchard-trees. 

We hear, like them, the hum of bees 
And rustle of the bladed corn. 
We turn the pages that they read, 

Their written words we linger o'er; 
But in the sun they cast no shade. 
No voice is heard, no sign is made. 

No step is on the conscious floor. 
Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust. 
(Since He who knows our need is just,) 
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must 

Alas for him who never sees 

The stars shine through his cypress-trees! 
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 
Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play! 
Wlio hath not learned, in hours of faith. 

The truth to flesh and sense unknown. 
That Life is ever lord of Death, 

And Love can never lose its own! 

John Greenleap Whittikh. 



RED RIDING-HOOD. 

On the wide lawn the snow lay deep. 

Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; 

The wind that through the pine-trees sung 

The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; 

Wliile, through the window, frosty-starred, 

Against the sunset's purple barred. 

We saw the somber crow flap by. 

The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, 

The crested blue-jay flitting swift, 

The squirrel poising on the drift. 

Erect, alert, his broad gray tail 

Set to the north wind like a sail. 

It came to pass our little lass. 

With flattened face a.sainst the glass. 

And eyes in which the tender dew 

Of pity shone, stood gazing through 

The narrow space her rosy lips 

Had melted from the frost's eclipse: 

"Oh, see." she cried, "the poor blue-jaysl 



Wliat is it that the black crow says? 
The squirrel lifts his little legs 
Because he has no hands, and begs; 
He's asking for my nuts, 1 know; 
May I not feed them on the snow?" 

Half lost within her boots, her head 
Warm-sheltered in her hood of red. 
Her plaid skirt close about lier drawn, 
She floundered down the wintry lawn; 
Now struggling through the misty veil 
Blown round her by the slirieking gale; 
Now sinking in a drift so low 
Her scarlet hood could scarcely show 
Its dash of color on the snow. 

She dropped for bird and beast forlorn 
Her little store of nuts and corn. 
And thus her timid guests bespoke: 
"Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak; 
Come, black old crow; come, poor blue- jay, 
Before your supper's blown away! 
Don't be afraid: we all are good. 
And I'm Mama's Red Riding-hood!" 

O Thou whose care is over all, 
■Wlio heedest even the sparrow's fall, 
Keep in the little maiden's breast 
The pity wliich is now its guest! 
Let not her cultured years make less 
The childhood charm of tenderness. 
But let her feel as well as know. 
Not harder witli her polish grow! 
Unmoved by sentimental grief 
That wails along some printed leaf. 
But prompt with kindly word and deed 
To own the claims of all who need. 
Let the grown woman's self make good 
The promise of Red Riding-hood! 

John Greenleap Whittier. 



JUST THIS MINUTE. 

If we're thoughtful just this minute 

In whate'er we say or do. 
If we put a purpose in it 

That is honest through and through, 
WVb shall gladden life and give it 

Grace to make it all sublime; 
For though life is long, we live it 

Just a moment fit a time. 

Just this minute we are going 

To the right or to the wrong; 
Just this minute we are sowing 

Seeds of sorrow or of song; 
Just this minute we are thinking 

On the ways that lead to God, 
Or on idle dreams are sinking 

To the level of the clod. 

Yesterday is gone; tomorrow 

Never comes within our grasp; 
Just this minute's joy or sorrow. 

That is all our hands may clasp. 
Just this minute! Let us take it. 

As a pearl of precious price. 
And with high endeavor make it 

Fit to shine in paradise. 



168 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



A DREAM. 

I dreamed the plowman told me: "Grow 
your bread 
And tend your fields alone; I plow no 

more." 
The weaver bade me spin the clothes I 
wore. 
The masons quit the wall above my head. 
Deserted so by all wiio warmed and fed 
And sheltered me, my heart was sad 

and sore; 
For. seek what path I would, I heard 
the roar 
Of sullen lions, and the sky was lead. 

My eyes fell open, and 1 saw the sun; 

I heard a hundred hammers beat as one. 

The plowboy wliistle, and the builder call; 
-A.nd then I knew my happiness, and then 
1 felt my endless debt to other men; 

And since that morning I have loved 
them all. 



COLUMBUS. 

Behind him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind the Gates of Hercules; 
Before him not the ghost of shores. 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said: "Now must we pray, 

For lo! the very stars are gone — 
Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?" 

"Why say, "Sail on! sr.il on! and on!' " 

"M>' men grow mutinous day by day; 

My men grow gl astly wan and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home; a spray 

Of salt wave washed his swarthy clieek. 
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, 

If we see naught but seas at dawn?" 
"Why you shall say at break of day, 

'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!' " 

They sailed and sailed as wind might blow 

Until at last the blanched mate said: 
"Why now, not even God wouJd know 

Should I and all my men fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way. 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and .say"; 

He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!" 

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the 
mate: 

"This mad sea shows his teeth tonight. 
He curls his lip, he lies in wait, 

Witli lifted teeth as if to bite! 
Brave Admiral, say but one good word: 

Wliat shall we do when hope is gone?" 
The words leapt like a leaping sword: 

"Sail nn! sail on! sail on! and on!" 

Then pale and worn he kept his deck. 
And peered through darkness. All, that 
night 

Of all dark nights! And then a speck — 
A light! a light! a light! a light! 



It grew, a starlight flag unfurled! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 
He gained a world; he gave that world 

Its grandest lesson — "On! sail on!" 

Joaquin Millbr. 



STAND LIKE AN ANVIL. 

"Stand like an anvil " when the stroke 
Of stalwart men falls fierce and fast; 

Storms but more deeply root the oak. 
Whose brawny arms embrace the blast. 

"Stand like an anvil" when the sparks 
Fly, far and wide a fiery shower; 

Virtue and trutli must still be marks, 

\\Tier6 malice proves its want of power. 

"Stand like an anvil" wlien the bar 
Lies, red and glowing, on its breast; 

Duty shall be life's leading star. 
And conscious innocence its rest. 

"Stand like an anvil" when the sound 
Of ponderous hammers pains the ear; 

Thine, but the still and stern rebound 
Of the great heart that can not fear. 

"Stand like an anvil"; noise and heat 
Are born of earth, and die with time; 

The soul, like God, its source and seat, 
la solemn, still, serene, sublime. 

GeORGO W. DOiNB. 



TOMORROW. 

The setting sun with dying beam 

Had waked the purple hills to fire; 

And citadel and dome and spire 
Were gilded by the far-off gleam. 
And in and out dark pine trees crept 

Full many a slender line of gold; 
Gold motes athwart the river swept. 

And kissed it as it onward rolled, 
And sunlight lingered, loth to go. 

Ah, well! it causeth sorrow 
To part from those we love below, 
And yet the sun as bright shall glow 
Tomorrow. 

The tide was ebbing on the strand. 
And stooping low its silver crest, 
The crimson sea-weed lay at rest 

Upon the amber-ribbed sand. 

Dashed o'er the rocks and on the shore. 
Flung parting wreaths of pearly spray. 

Then fled away. Yet turned once more 
And sent a sigh across the bay. 

As though it couild not bear to go. 
Ah, well! it causetii sorrow 

To part with those we love below. 

Yet thitherward the tide shall flow 
Tomorrow. 

Two hearts have met to say farewell. 
At even when the sun went down; 
Each life-sound from the busy town 

Smote sadly as a passing bell. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



169 



One whispered, "Parting is sweet pain, 
At morn and eve returns the tide"; 

"Nay, parting rends the heart in twain.' 
And still they lingered side by side — 

And still they lingered, loath to go. 
Ah, well! it causetli sorrow 

To part from those we love below, 

For shall we ever meet or not 
Tomorrow? 



IN THE HEART. 

If no kindly thought or word 

"We can give, some soul to bless: 
If our hands, from hour to hour. 

Do no deeds of gentleness; 
If to lone and weary ones 

We no comfort will iinpart, — 
Though 'tis summer in tlie sky. 

Yet 'tis winter in the heart! 

If we strive to lift the gloom 

From a dark and burdened life; 
If we seek to lull the storm 

Of our fallen brother's strife; 
If we bid all hate and scorn 

From the spirit to depart, — 
Though 'tis winter in the sky, 

Tet 'tis summer in the heart! 



THOUGHTS. 

There are beautiful thoughts which come 

and go 
Like the dawn of day, like the sunset glow; 
They haunt our hearts, but we seek in vain 
To breathe them in words; the loftiest 

strain 
The poet sings, is naught to him 
But a feeble echo, a shadow dim 
Of the music and light which warm his 

soul. 
Oh! if he could but breathe the whole! 
His song is thrilling in many a breast. 
But he thinks his voiceless thoughts the 

best. 

Thoughts of charity, thoughts of love. 
Soft as the wing of the brooding dove — 
Oh! how softly they flutter in. 
Covering gently a brother's sin. 
Quietly stirring up thoughts of prayer, 
Planning how we may help to bear 
The burden our weary brother bears. 
How we may lighten his many cares. 
How we may lead some erring youth 
Tenderly into the way of truth; 
But ah! sweet thouglits! it is sad to know 
How often you pass like the evening glow; 
The sky grows dark, and the heart grows 

cold; 
We go on our way as they went of old, 
Who, 'passing by on the other side,' 
Some in coldness and some in pride, 
Offered no help to him who lay 
Wounded and faint beside the way. 



Sorrowful thoughts they come and stay, 
Vexing our spirits day by day. 
Casting their shadow on all we see, 
Filling our souls with perplexity. 
Shutting tlie joyous sunshine out. 
Veiling our hearts with fear and doubt. 
Till the voice which calmed the stormy sea 
Speaks to our souls, and the shadows flee. 

Glorious thoughts all warm and bright. 
Gleams sent down from the land of light — 
How do they cheer our earthly way, 
Turning our darkness into day! 
Thoughts of Him whose name is Love, 
Thoughts of heaven or rest above, 
Thoughts of loved ones dwelling there. 
Thoughts of joys we soon shall share — 
Glorious, thoughts, serene and pure! — 
These are the thoughts wliich sliall endure. 
Beautiful thoughts may pass away 
Like morning mist on a summer day: 
Sorrowful thoughts will have no place 
Where the tears are wiped from every face; 
But the glory begun on earth shall be 
Perfected in eternity! 

Mrs. m. J, E. Crawfobd. 



THE DAY IS DONE. 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That m.v soul can not resist; 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain. 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay. 

That shall sootlie this restless feeling. 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time; 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor. 
And tonight I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet. 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer. 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

\Mio, through long days of labor. 

And nights devoid of ease. 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 



170 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care. 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares, that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

Hbnri Wauswokth Lonofbllow. 



UNDER THE LEAVES. 

Oft have I walked these woodland paths 
Without the blessed foreknowing 

That underneath the withered leaves 
The fairest buds were growing. 

Today the south wind sweeps away 
The types of autumn's splendor, 

And shows the sweet Arbutus flowers — 
Spring's children, pure and tender. 

O prophet souls, with lips of bloom, 

Outvieing in their beauty 
The pearly tints of ocean-shells, 

Ye teach me faith and duty. 

Walk life's dark ways, ye seem to say, 
With love's divine foreknowing. 

That where man sees but withered leaves, 
God sees the sweet flowers growing. 



THE SILVER LINING. 

There's never a day so sunny 
But a little cloud appears; 

There's never a life so happy 
But it has its times of tears: 

Yet the sun shines out the brighter 
■UTien the stormy tempest clears. 

There's never a garden growing 
With a rose in every plot; 

There's never a heart so hardened 
But it has one tender spot: 

We have only to prune the border 
To find the forget-me-not. 

There's never a cup so pleasant 
But has bitter with the sweet: 

There's never a path so rugged 
That bears not the print of feet; 

But we have a Helper promised 
For the trials we must meet. 

There's never a sun that rises 

But we know 'twill set at night; 

The tints that gleam in the morning 
At evening are just as bright: 

And the hour that is the sweetest 
Is between the dark and light. 



There's never a dream that's happy 
But tlie waking makes us sad; 

There's never a dream of sorrow 
But the waking makes us glad: 

We sliall look some day with wonder 
At the troubles we have had. 



TODAY. 

So here hath been dawning another blue day; 
Think, wilt thou let it slip useless away? 

Out of eternity this new day is born; 
Into eternity at night will return. 

Behold it aforetime no eye ever did; 

So soon it forever from all eyes is hid. 

Here hath been dawning another blue day; 
Think, wilt thou let it slip useless away? 
Thomas Carlyle. 



KISSING THE ROD. 

O heart of mine, we shouldn't worry so! 
What we've missed of sun, we couJdn't 

have, you know; 
What we've met of stormy pain and of 

sorrow's driving rain. 
We can better meet again, if it blow. 
We have erred in that dark hour we have 

known. 
When our tears fell with a shower, all 

alone; 
Were not shine and shadow blent as the 

gracious Master meant? 
Let us temper our content with his own. 
For we know, not every morrow can be sad; 
So forgetting all the trouble we have had. 
Let us fold away our tears, and put by our 

foolish fears. 
And through all the coming years, just be 

glad! 

James Whitcomb Rilht. 



VIRTUE IMMORTAL. 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright. 
The bridal of the earth and sky, 

The dew shall weep thy fall tonight. 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye. 

Thy root is ever in its grave. 
And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie. 

My music shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 

Like seasoned timber, never gives. 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 

Then chiefly lives. 

Georoh Herbert. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



171 



INDECISION. 

The road of indecision leads 

To nowhere in particular — 
Across the swamps where Sorrow breeds, 

Throug-h wild morasses, deep and far, 
With not a guide-post, nor a ligrht. 
From right to left, from left to right. 

The steepest place, the longest way. 
The hardest way of all to cli.nb 

la not difBcult, they say. 

If it emerge, somewhere, sometime. 

Come, comrade; let's be rid of doubt. 

And take the road we're sure about! 

Fbank Walcott Hdtt. 



MEMORY. 

[Written during tlio antUor's senior year In Wil- 
liam's College. ] 

'Tis beauteous night; the stars look 

brightly down 
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow. 
No light gleams at the windows, save my 

own, 
■RHiich gives its cheer to midnight and to me. 
And now with noiseless step sweet Mem- 
ory comes 
And leads me genfjy through her twilight 

realms, 
■^liat poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung 
Or delicatest pencil e'er portrayed 
The enchanted shadowy land where Mem- 
ory dwells? 
It has its valleys, cheerless, lone, and drear. 
Dark-shaded by the mournful cypress-tree; 
And yet its sunlit mountain-tops are bathed 
In heaven's own blue. Upon its craggy 

cliffs. 
Robed in the dreamy light of distant years, 
Are clustered joys serene of other days. 
Upon it.s gentle sloping hillsides bend 
The weeping willows o'er the sacred dust 
Of dear departed ones; yet in that land, 
'>^'^ere'er our footsteps fall upon the shore. 
They that were sleeping rise from out the 

dust 
Of death's long, silent years, and round us 

stand 
As erst they did before the prison tomb 
Received tlieir clay within its voiceless halls. 
The heavens that bend above that land are 

hung 
With clouds of various hues: some dark 

and chill, 
Surcharged with sorrow, cast their som- 
ber shade 
Upon the sunny, joyous land below; 
Others are floating through the dreamy air, 
White as the falling snow, their margins 

tinged 
With gold and crimson hues; their shadows 

fall 
Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes, 
Soft as the shadow of an angel's wing. 
When the rough battle of the day is done, 
And evening's peace falls gently on the 

heart, 
I bound away, across the noisy years. 



Unto the utmost verge of Memory's land, 
'VN'Siere earth and sky in dreamy distance 

meet. 
And Memory dim with dark oblivion joins; 
Wliere woke the first remembered sounds 

that fell 
Upon the ear in childhood's early morn; 
And, wandering thence along the rolling 

years, 
I see the shadow of my former self 
Gliding from childhood up to man's estate. 
Tlie path of youth winds down through 

many a vale. 
And on the brink of many a dread abyss. 
From out whose darkness comes no ray of 

light. 
Save that a phantom dances o'er the gulf 
And beckons toward the verge; again the 

path 
Leads o'er the summit where the sunbeams 

fall. 
And thus in light and shade, sunshine and 

gloom. 
Sorrow and joy this life-path leads along. 
James Abram Gabfield. 



EVERY DAY. 

O trifling tasks, so often done. 

Yet ever to be done anew! 
O cares that come with every sun, 

Morn after morn, the long years through! 
We shrink beneath their paltry sway, 
The irksome calls of every day. 

The restless sense of wasted power. 
The tiresome round of little things, 

Are hard to bear, as hour by hour 
Its tedious iteration brings; 

Wlio shall evade or who delay 

The small demands of every day? 

The bowlder in the torrent's course, 
By tide and tempest lashed in vain. 

Obeys the wave- whirled pebble's force. 
And yields its substance, grain by grain; 

So crumble strongest lives away 

neneath the wear of every day. 

We rise to meet a heavy blow, 
Our souJs a sudden bravery fills. 

But we endure not always so 
The drop-by-drop of little ills; 

We feel our noblest powers decay 

In feeble wars with every day. 

The heart which boldly faces death 
Upon the battle-field, and dares 

Cannon and bayonet, faints beneath 
The needle-points of frets and cares; 

The stoutest spirits they dismay. 

The tiny stings of every day. 

Ah, more than martyr's aureole, 
And more than hero's heart of fire, 

AVe need the I'.umble strength of soul 
Wliich daily toils and ills require: 

Sweet Patience! grant us, if you may. 

An added grace for every day! 

Elizabeth Akers Allen. 



172 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GOOD CHEER. 

If none were sick and none were sad, 

What service could we render? 
I think if we were always glad 

We scarcely could be tender. 
Did our beloved never need 

Our patient ministration, 
Earth would grow cold and miss indeed 

Its sweetest consolation. 
If sorrow never claimed our heart. 

And every wish were granted. 
Patience would die and hope depart — 

Life would be disenchanted. 



THE TEACHERS DREAM. 

The weary teacher sat alone 

While twilight gathered on; 
And not a sound was heard around — 

The boys and girls were gone. 

The weary teacher sat alone. 

Unnerved and pale was he; 
Bowed 'neath a yoke of care, he spoke 

In sad soliloquy: 

"Another round, another round 

Of labor thrown away. 
Another chain of toil and pain 

Dragged through a tedious day. 

"Of no avail is constant zeal. 

Love's sacrifice is lost; 
The hopes of morn, so golden, turn. 

Each evening, into dross. 

"I squander on a barren field 
My strength, my life, my all; 

The seeds I sow will never grow, 
They perish where they fall. 

He sighed, and low upon his hands 
His aching brow he pressed; 

And o'er his frame erelong there came 
A soothing sense of rest. 

And then he lifted up his face. 

But started back aghast — 
The room, by strange and sudden change, 

Assumed proportions vast. 

It seemed a Senate-hall, and one 
Addressed a listening throng; 

Each burning word all bosoms stirred. 
Applause rose loud and long. 

The 'wildered teacher thought he knew 

The speaker's voice and look, 
"And for his name," said he, "the same 

Is in my record-book." 

The stately Senate-hall dissolved; 

A church rose in its place. 
Wherein there stood a man of God, 

Dispensing words of grace. 

And though he spoke in solemn tone. 
And though his hair was gra.v. 



The teacher's thought was strangely 
wrought: 
"I whipped that boy today." 

The church, a phantasm, vanished soon; 

W'hat saw the teacher tlien? 
In classic gloom of alcoved room 

An author plied his pen. 

"My idlest lad!" the teacher said. 

Pilled with a new surprise — 
".Shall I behold his name enrolled 

Among the great and wise?" 

The vision of a cottage home 

The teacher now descried; 
A mother's face illumed the place 

Her influence sanctified. 

"A miracle! a miracle! 

This matron, well I know. 
Was but a wild and careless child 

Not half an hour ago. 

"And when she to her children speaks 

Of duty's golden rule. 
Her lips repeat in accents sweet 

My words to her at school." 

The scene was changed again, and lo, 
The schoolhouse rude and old; 

Upon the wall did darkness fall. 
The evening air was cold. 

"A dream!" the sleeper, waking, said, 

Then paced along the floor. 
And, whistling slow and soft and low. 

He locked the schoolhouse door. 

And, walking home, Iiis heart was full 
Of peace and trust and praise; 

And singing slow and soft and low. 
Said, "After many days." 

w. II. Vbnabls. 



WE ALL MIGHT DO GOOD. 

Wo all might do good 

Where we often do ill — 
There is always the way 

If there be but the will; 
Though it he but a word 

Kindly breathed or suppressed. 
It may guard off some pain. 

Or give peace to some breast. 

We all might do good 

In a tliousand small ways — 
In forbearing to flatter. 

Yet yielding due praise; 
In spurning ill rumor, 

Reproving wrong done. 
And treating but kindly 

Tlie Iieart we have won. 

We all might do good 
T\Tiether lowly or great. 

For the deed is not gauged 
By the purse or estate; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



173 



If it be but a cup 

Of cold water that's given; 
Like the widow's two mites. 

It is something for heaven. 



WORDS OF STRENGTH. 

There are three lessons I would write. 
Three words as with a burning pen. 

In tracings of eternal light. 
Upon the hearts of men. 

Have hope. Though clouds environ now, 
And Gladness hides lier face in scorn. 

Put thou the shadow from thy brow; 
No night but hath its morn. 

Have faith. Where'er thy bark is driven — 
The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth — 

Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven, 
The inhabitants of earth. 

Have love — not love alone for one. 
But man as man thy brother call. 

And scatter like the circling sun 
Thy charities on all. 

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul — 
Hope, Faith, and Love — and thou shalt 
find 
Strength when life's surges rudest roll. 
Light when thou else wert blind. 

Fhiedrich Scuii.lek. 



STRENGTH FOR TODAY. 

Strength for today is all that we need. 
As there never will be a tomorrow; 

For tomorrow will prove but another today, 
With its measure of Joy and sorrow. 

Then why forecast the trials of life 
With much sad and grave persistence. 

And wait and watch for a crowd of ills 
That as yet have no existence? 

Strength for today — what a precious boon 

For earnest souls who labor, 
For the willing hands that minister 

To the needy friend or neighborl 

Strength for today, that the weary hearts 
In tlie battle of risht may quail not. 

And the eye bedimmed by bitter tears 
In their search for lieht ma.v fail not. 

Strength for today, on the down-hill track 
For the travelers near the valley. 

That up, far up on the upper side. 
Erelong they may safely rally. 

Strength for today, that our precious youth 
Ma\' happily shun temptation, 

And build from the rise to the set of the sun 
On a strong and sure foundation. 

Strength for today, in house and home 
To practise forbearance sweetly: 



To scatter kind words and loving deeds. 
Still trusting in God completely. 

Strength for today to all that we need. 
And there never will be a tomorrow; 

For tomorrow will prove but another today, 
With its measure of joy and sorrow. 



TODAY IS YOURS. 

Today is yours, its richness and its chance. 
And all it holds — its opportunities. 
Its penalties, rewards, and its advance. 
And its restrictions and immunities. 

Today is yours; your yesterday is dead. 
And unborn is the morrow; but today 
Holds something that by night-time will 

have fled 
And left you staring backward in dismay. 

Today is yours: how you may use today, 
Tomorrow pays the toll; your minutes 

wrecked 
Are melancholy markers by the way — 
There is more strife than peace in retro- 
spect. 



A SERMON IN VERSE. 

Tired? Well, what of that? 
Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, 
Flutterin.g the rose-leaves scattered by 

the breeze? 
Come, rouse thee! work while it is called 

today; 
Coward, arisel go forth thy way! 

Lonely? And what of that? 
Some mUiSt be lonely; 'tis not given to all 
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall. 
To blend another life into its own: 
Work may be done in loneliness; work on! 

Dark? Well, what of that? 
Didst fondly dream the sun would never 

set? 
Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage 

yet; 
Learn thou to walk by faith and not by 

sight: 
Thy steps will guided be and guided right. 

Hard? Well, and what of that? 
Didst fancy life one summer holidaj'. 
With lessons none to learn, and naught 

but play? 
Go, get thee to thy task. Conquer or die! 
It must be learned; learn it, then patiently. 

No help? Nay, 'tis not so; 
Though human help be far, thy God is nigh, 
Wlio feeds the ravens, hears his children 

cry; 
He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps 

roam, 
And he will guide thee, light tliee, help 

the« home. 



174 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



TRUE GLADNESS. 

Be glad when the flowers have faded? 

Be glad when the trees are bare? 
When the fog lies thick on the field and 
moors, 

And the frost is in the air? 
When all around is a desert, 

And the clouds obscure the light? 
When there are no songs for the darkest 
days. 

No stars for the longest night? 

Ah, yes, for the truest gladness 

Is not in ease or mirth; 
It has its home in the heart of God, 

Not in the loves of the earth. 
God's love is the same forever. 

If the skies are bright or dim, 
And the joy of the morning lasts all day 

When the heart Is glad with him. 



WHY DO WE WAIT? 

Why do we wait till ears are deaf 
Before we speak our kindly word, 

And only utter loving praise 

When not a whisper can be heard? 

Wiiy do we wait till hands are laid 
Close-folded, pulseless, ere we place 

Within them roses sweet and rare. 
And lilies in their flawless grace? 

Why do we wait till eyes are sealed 
To light and love in death's deep trance- — 

Dear wistful eyes — before we bend 

Above them with impassioned glance? 

Why do we wait till hearts are still 
To tell them all the love in ours. 

And give them such late meed of praise. 
And lay above them fragrant flowers? 

Why do we, careless, wait till life's 
Sweet opportunities are past, 

And break our "alabaster box 
Of ointment" at the very last! 

Oh! let us heed the living friend 

Wlio walks with us life's common ways. 

Watching our eyes for look of love. 
And hungering for a word of praise. 



DO WHAT YOU FEEL YOU SHOULD. 

If you've any task to do. 

Let me whisper, friend, to you. 

Do it. 
If you've anything to say. 
True and needed, yea or nay. 

Say it. 
If you've anything to love. 
As a blessing from above. 

Love it. 
If you've anything to give. 
That another's Joy may live. 

Give it. 



If some hollow creed you doubt. 
Though the whole world hoot and shout. 

Doubt it. 
If you've any debt to pay, 
Rest you neither night nor day, 

Pay it. 
If you've any joy to hold. 
Near your heart, lest it grow cold, 

Hold it. 
If you've any grief to meet. 
At a loving Father's feet, 

Meet it. 
If you know what torch to light, 
Guiding others in the night. 

Light it 



THE RAINY DAY. 

Tlie day is cold, and dark, and dreary; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary; 
The vine still clings to the moldering wall. 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall. 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary; 

My thoughts still cling to the moldering 

past. 
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the 

blast, 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 
Behind the cloud is the sun still shining; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all — 
Into each life some rain must fall. 
Some days must be dark and dreary. 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



WHAT IS TIME? 



I asked an aged man, with hoary hairs. 
Wrinkled and curved with worldly cares: 
"Time is the warp of life," said he. "Oh, 

tell 
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it 

well!" 
I asked the ancient, venerable dead, 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled: 
From the cold grave a hollow murmur 

flowed, 
"Time sowed the seed; we reap in this 

abode." 
I asked a dying sinner ere the tide 
Of life had left his veins: "Time," he re- 
plied — • 
"I've lost it! ah, the treasure!" and he died. 
I asked the golden sun and silver spheres, 
Those bright chronometers of days and 

years : 
They answered, "Time is but a meteor 

glare," 
And bade me for eternity prepare. 
I asked the seasons in their annual round. 
Which beautify or desolate the ground; 
And they replied (no oracle more wise). 
" 'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's high- 
est prize. ' 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



17 r> 



1 asked a spirit lost — but, oh! the shriek 
That pierced my soul! I shudder while I 

speak. 
It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite 
Of endless years, duration indefinite!" 
Of things inanimate, my dial I 
Consulted, and it made me this reply: 
"Time is the season fair of living well. 
The path of glory or the path of hell." 
I asked my Bible, and methinks it said, 
"Time is the present hour; the past has 

fled. 
Live! live today! tomorrow never yet 
On any human being rose or set." 
I asked old Father Time himself at last, 
But in a moment he new swiftly past. 
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace 

behind. 
I asked the mighty angel who shall stand 
One foot on sea and one on solid land: 
••Mortal!" he cried, "the mystery now is 

o'er: 
Time was. time is, but time shall be no 

more." 



Wlio patiently toils on, though feet be sore; 
Whose home stands by the road with open 

door; 
Who smiles though down he sits to feast 

or crust — 
His faith in man sincere; in God his trust. 

ADELBEBT F. CALDWELL. 



HARD LUCK. 



Hard luck! you say, because you failed to 

win. 
No luck about it — failure lies within. 
The luck that made you lose the race you 

ran 
Was that you didn't know the words. "I 

can." 

Hard luck! you say when, after you have 

fought. 
Another carries off the prize you sought. 
No luck about it — you will lose until 
Tou learn tlie meaning of the words, "I 

will." 

Hard luck! you say. What kinl do you de- 
serve, 

■When every obstacle has power to make 
you swerve? 

Stick to your course — forget to heave that 
sigh; 

He conquers who says earnestly, 'TU try. 
Emu, Caei, AcRiN. 



THE BEST LIFE. 

He lives the best who never doth complain, 
Whether the passing days be filled with 

sun or rain: 
Who sows his deeds of love, and, patient, 

lives, 
Expecting not again the thing he gives; 
Wlio buries deep the Past— its pain, its 

tears — 
And bravely meets his Now. untrammeled 

by fears; 
■Who lets his life so shine, e'en in the night, 
That wanderers distressed may see the 

Light; 



REAPING. 

Up, mortal, and act, while the angel of light 
Melts the shadows before and behind thee! 
Shake off the soft dreams that encumber 
thy might, 
And burst the fool's fetters that bind 
thee! 
Soars the skylark — soar thou; leaps the 
stream — do thou leap; 
Learn from nature the splendor of action: 
Plough, harrow, and sow, or thou never 
Shalt reap; 
Faithful deeds bring divine benefaction. 

Thered su,nhas rolled himself into the blue. 

And lifted the mists from the mountain; 

The young hares are feasting on nectar 

of dew. 

The stag cools his lips in the fountain. 

The blackbird is piping within the dim elm. 

The river is sparkling and leaping. 
The wild bee is fencing the sweets of his 
realm. 
And the mighty limbed reapers are reap- 
ing. 

To spring comes the budding; to summer, 
the blush ; 
To autumn, the happy fruition; 
To winter, repose, meditation, and hush; 

But to man, every season's condition: 
He buds, blooms, and ripens in action and 
rest. 
As thinker, and actor, and sleeper; 
Then withers and wave:s, chin drooping on 
breast. 
And is reaped by the hand of a reaper. 



LIVING WATERS. 

There are some hearts like wells, grcon- 
mossed and deep 
As ever Summer saw. 
And cool their water is, yea, cool and sweet; 

But you must come to draw. 
They hoard not, yet they rest in calm con- 
tent. 
And not unsought will give: 
They can be quiet with their wealth un- 
spent. 
So self-contained they live. 

And there are some like springs, that bub- 
bling burst 
To follow dusty ways, 
.\nd run with offered cup to quench his 
thirst 
Where the tired traveler strays; 



176 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



That never ask the meadows if they want 

What is their joy to give: 
ITnasked, their lives to other life they 
grant. 

So self-bestowed they live! 

And One is like the ocean, deep and wide, 

Wherein all waters fall; 
That girdles the broad earth, and draws 
the tide. 
Feeding and bearing all; 
That broods the mists, that sends the 
clouds abroad, 
That takes, again to give — 
Even the great and loving heart of God, 
Whereby all love doth live. 

Cabolinb Spenobb. 



THE BEST WE CAN. 

Wlien things don't go to suit us, 

Why should we fold our hands. 
And say. "No use in trying; 

Fate baffles all our plans"? 
Let not your courage falter. 

Keep faith in God and man, 
And to this thought be steadfast: 

"I'll do the best I can." 

If clouds blot out the sunshine 

Along the way you tread. 
Don't grieve in hopeless fashion 

And sigh for brightness fled. 
Beyond the clouds the sunlight 

Shines in the eternal plan; 
Trust that the way will brighten, 

And do the best you can. 

Away with vain repinings; 

Sing songs of hope and cheer. 
Till many a weary comrade 

Grows strong of heart to hear. 
He who sings over trouble 

Is aye the wisest man: 
He can't lielp what has happened, 

But — does the best he can. 

So if things won't go to suit us. 

Let's never fume and fret. 
For finding fault with fortune 

Ne'er mended matters yet. 
Make the best of whate'er happens. 

Bear failure like a man. 
And in good or evil fortune 

Do just the best you can. 

Eben E. Rbifobd. 



LOOK AHEAD. 

No matter what's your trouble, 

Look ahead: 
Never mind how trials double. 

Look ahead. 
Past mistakes are sure to find you 
If you let their memory bind you. 
And so never gaze behind you — 

Look ahead. 



Don't stop in the way you're going, 

Look ahead; 
Don't waste time upon past showing, 

Look ahead. 
If the past has gone in failing, 
Spend no precious moments railing; 
With fresh energy prevailing. 

Look ahead. 

Turn your back on life's disaster. 

Look ahead; 
If the past has failed, then faster 

Look ahead. 
Let the future wrest successes 
From the past's mistakes and guesses; 
waiile the present this impresses. 

Look ahead. 

Looking backward on past glory. 

Not ahead. 
Told of Lot's wife the sad story. 

While ahead, 
Lay her land of woe-forsaking; 
So, if fortune you'd be making. 
And of ill your leave be taking. 

Look ahead! 



LITTLE THINGS. 

The great Creator on his throne 

Marks well his children's every tear- 
From little child to hoary crown. 

Not one is left without his care. 
Each pair of little hands we fold 

And lay among the silent dead, 
By him not ono remains untold; 

The hairs are numbered on each head. 

Sliould we. though pressed with constant 
toil, 

With brain and muscles overwrought, 
Gra.^ip for the great things all the while. 

And leave the little things forgot? 
No. toiler, look beneath thy feet; 

Perhaps there bruised and partly torn. 
You'll find a rose with fragrance sweet 

As any by a princess worn. 

A pebble gathered from the sliore 

Once slew a giant great and proud; 
Then Israel gained a vict'ry sure. 

And glorifled the living God. 
The great inventions we behold. 

The vast achievements gained today. 
Though 'mong the wonders now enrolled, 

Were little thin.gs but yesterday. 

The mi,?hty river rushing on 

Heads with a narrow, rippling flow 
Whose moss-clad banks with flowers strewn 

Smile in the morn and evening dew; 
But farther on and toward tlie sea. 

Behold, upon her lieaving breast. 
The steamers in their majesty 

Speed on unhindered by the blast. 

The sturdy oak. beneath whose shade 

The weary lingerer longs to rest. 
And In whose leafy boughs are made 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



177 



The feathered songsters' skilful nest. 
For strength and beauty unsurpassed — 

And yet 'tis scarce a century 
Since idly to the groujid was cast 

The seed that grew this wondrous tree- 
Though but a deed of kindness shown, 

A gentle word of love or cheer, 
'Twill drive from some sad heart the gloom, 

'Twill help some one the cross to bear. 
And if the act of love be small. 

Its lowliness we'll not despise, 
When Jesus marks the sparrow's fall, t 

And wipes the children's weeping eyes. 
jEN.viH Mast. 



DESTINIES OF LIFE. 

Know well, my soul, God's hand controls 

W'hate'er thou fearest! 
Round him in calmest music rolls 

T^liate'er thou hearest. 

Man sees no future — a phantom show 

Is alone before him; 
Past time is dead, and the grasses grow 

And flow'rs bloom o'er him. 

The present, the present is all thou hast 

For thy sure possessing; 
Like the patriarch's angel, hold it fast 

Till it gives its blessing. 

Like warp and woof, all destinies 

Are woven fast. 
Linked in sympathy like the keys 

Of an organ vast. 

Pluck one thread and the web ye mar; 

Break but one 
Of a thousand keys, and paining jar 

Through all will run. 

And in life, and in death, in dark and light, 

All are in God's care; 
Sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of 
night, 
And he is there. 

John Greenleaf Whittieb. 



THE PASSIONS. 

["You have passions in your heart — scorpions; 
they sleep now — beware how you awaken them ! they 
will sting vou even to death!" — -Mysteries of Vdol- 
phos, Vol. III.] 

Beware, beware, ere thou takest 

The draught of misery! 
Beware, beware ero thou wakest 

The scorpions that sleep in thee! 

The woes which thou canst not number. 

As yet are wrapt in sleep; 
Yet oh! yet they slumber. 

But their slumbers are not deep. 

Tet oh! yet while the rancor 
Of hate has no place in thee. 



While the buoyant soul has an anchor 
In youth's bright tranquil sea; 

Yet oh ! yet while the blossom 

Of hope is blooming fair. 
While the beam of bliss lights thy bosom — 

Oh! rouse not the serpent there! 

For bitter thy tears will trickle 

'Neath misery's heavy load, 
When the world has put in its sickle 

To tlie crop which fancy sowed. 

■Wlien the world has rent the cable 
That bound thee to the shore, 

And launched thee weak and unable 
To bear the billow's roar. 

Then the slightest touch will waken 

Those pangs that will always grieve thee. 

And thy soul will be fiercely shaken 
With storms that will never leave thee! 

So beware, beware, ere thou takest 

The draught of misery! 
Beware, beware, ere thou wakest 

The scorpions that sleep in thee! 

Alfred Tenntson. 



THEY SAY. 

Have you heard of the terrible family They, 
And the dreadful venomous things T'ney 

say? 
Why, half the gossip under the sun, 
If you trace it back, you will find begun 
In that wretched House of They. 

A numerous family, so I am told. 
And its genealogical tree is old; 
For ever since Adam and Eve began 
To build up the curious race of man. 
Has existed the House of They. 

Gossip-mongers and spreaders of lies. 
Horrid people whom all despise! 
And yet the best of us now and then. 
Repeat queer tales about women and men 
And quote the House of They. 

They live like lords, and never labor; 
A They's one task is to watch his neighbor. 
And tell his business and private affairs 
To the world at large; they are sowers of 
tares — ■ 
These folks in the House of They. 

It is wholly useless to follow a They 
With a whip or a gun, for he slips away 
And into his house, where you can not go; 
It is locked and bolted and guarded so — 
This horrible House of They. 

Though you can not get in, yet they get 

out. 
And spread their villainous tales about; 
Of all the rascals under the sun 
Who have come to punishment, never one 
Belonged to the House of They. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcoi. 



178 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



FACE THE SUN. 

Don't hunt after trouble, but look for suc- 
cess; 
You'll find what you look for; don't look 

for distress. 
If you see but your shadow, remember, I 

pray, 
That the sun is still shining, but you're in 

tlie way. 
Don't Rrumble, don't bluster, don't dream, 

and don't shirk. 
Don't think of your worries, but think of 

your work. 
The worries will vanish, the work will be 

done. 
No man sees his shadow wlio faces tlie sun. 



MISSPENT TIME. 

There is no remedy for time misspent, 
No healing for the waste of idleness, 
"WSiose very lanjjuor is a punishment 
Heavier than active souls can feel or guess. 
C' hours of indolence and discontent. 
Not now to be redeemed! ye sting not less 
Because 1 know this span of life was lent 
For lofty duties, not for selfishness. 
Not to be whiled away in aimless dreams. 
But to improve ourselves, and serve man- 
kind, 
Life and its choicest faculties were given. 
Man should be ever better than he seems, 
.\nd shape his acts, and discipline his mind. 
To walk adorning earth, with hope of heaven. 
Sir .\rBnEY DeVere. 



PLUCK. 



Did you tackle that trouble that came your 
way 
With a resolute heart and cheerful? 
Or hide your face from the light of day 

With a craven soul and fearful? 
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an 
ounce. 
Or a trouble is what you make it; 
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that 
counts — 
But only how did you take it? 

You are beaten to earth? Well! Well! 
what's that? 
Come up with a smiling face. 
It's nothing against you to fall down flat, 

But to lie there — that's disgrace. 
The harder you're thrown, why, the higher 
you bounce. 
Be proud of your blackened eye: 
It isn't the fact that you're licked that 
counts; 
It's how did you fight and why? 

And though you be done to the death — 
what then? 
If you battled the best you could. 



If you played your part in the world like 
men. 
Why, the Critic would call it good. 
Death comes with a crawl or comes with 
a bounce. 
And whether he's slow or spry, 
It isn't the fact that you're dead that 
counts. 
But only how did you die? 

Harbison Lib. 



MAKING POETRY. 

Little one, what are you doing, 

Sitting on the window-seat? 
Laughing to yourself, and writing, 
Some right merry thought inditing, 

Balancing with swinging feet. 

T'is some poetry I'm making, 

Though I never tried before; 
Four whole lines! I'll read them to you. 
Do you think them funny, do you? 

Shall I try to make some more? 

'I should like to be a poet, 

Writing verses every day; 
Then to you I'd always bring tliem. 
You should make a tune and sing them; 

'Twould be pleasanter than play.' 

Tliink you, darling, naught is needed 

But the paper and the ink, 
And a pen to trace so lightly, 
\A1iile the eye is beaming brightly. 

All the pretty things we think? 

There's a secret — can you trust me? 

Do not ask me what it is? 
Perhaps some day you too will know it. 
If you live to be a poet, 

All its agony and bliss. 

Poetry is not a trifle. 

Lightly thought and lightly made; 
Not a fair and scentless flower, 
Gaily cultured for an hour. 

Then as gaily left to fade. 

'Tis not stringing rhymes together 

In a pleasant true accord; 
Not the music of the metre. 
Not the happy fancies, sweeter 

Tlian a flower-bell, honey-stored. 

'Tis the essence of existence, 

Rarely rising to the light; 
And the songs that echo longest. 
Deepest, fullest, truest, strongest, 

With j'our life-blood you will write. 

With j'our life-blood. None will know it; 

You will never tell them how. 
Smile! and tliey will never guess it; 
Laugh! and you will not confess it 

By your paler cheek and brow. 

Tliere must be the tightest tension 

Ere the tone be full and true; 
Shallow lakelets of emotion 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



179 



Are not like the spirit-ocean, 
■RTiich reflects the purest blue. 

Every lesson you shall utter. 

If the charge indeed be yours, 
First is gained by earnest learning^. 
Carved in letters deep and burning 
On a heart that long endures. 

Day by day that wondrous tablet 
Your life-poem shall receive. 

By the hand of Joy or Sorrow; 

But the pen can never borrow 
Half the records that they leave. 

You will only give a transcript 
Of a life-line here and there, 
Only Just a spray-wreath springing 
From tlie hidden deptlis, and flinging 
Broken rainbows on tlie air. 

Still, if you but copy truly, 

'Twill be poetry indeed. 
Echoing many a heart's vibration. 
Rather love than admiration 

Earning as your priceless meed. 

■Will you seek it? 'U'ill you brave it? 

'Tis a strange and solemn thing, 
Learning long, before your teaching. 
Listening long, before your preaching. 

Suffering before you sing. 

Frances Ridley Haveegal. 



NOT UNDERSTOOD. 

Not understood, '^'e move along asunder; 

Our paths grow wider as the seasons 

creep 

Along the years; we marvel and we wonder 

■Why life is life; and then we fall asleep, 

Not understood. 

Not understood. We gather false impres- 
sions, 
And liug them closer as the years go by. 
Till virtues often seem to us transgressions; 
And thus men rise and fall and live and 
die. 

Not understood. 

Not understood. Poor souls with stunted 
vision 
Oft measure giants by their narrow 
gauge; 
The poisoned shafts of falsehood and de- 
rision 
Are oft impelled 'gainst those who mold 
the age. 

Not understood. 

Not understood. The secret springs of 
action, 
Wliich lie beneath the surface and the 
show, 
Arc disregarded. With self-satisfaction 
We judge our neighbors, and they often 
go. 

Not understood. 



Not understood. How trifles often change 
us! 
The thoughtless sentence or the fancied 
sliglit 
Destroy long years of friendsliip and es- 
trange us. 
And on our souls there falls a freezing 
blight; 

Not understood. 

Not understood. How many breasts are 
aching 
For lack of sympathy! Ah! day by day, 
How many cheerless lonely hearts are 
breaking! 
How many noble spirits pass away. 
Not understood. 

O God! that men would see a little clearer. 

Or judge less harshly where they can 

not see! 

O God! that men would draw a little nearer 

To one another! They'd be nearer thee. 

And understood. 

TnOMA.S BRACKIN. 



NOTHING IS LOST. 

Nothing is lost; the drop of dew 

Which trembles on the leaf or flower 
Is but exhaled to fall anew 

In summer's thunder-shower; 
Perchance to shine within the bow 

That fronts the sun at fall of day; 
Perchance to sparkle in the flow 

Of fountains far away. 

Nothing is lost: the tiniest seed 

By wild birds borne or breezes blown. 
Finds something suited to its need. 

Wherein 'tis sown and grown. 
The language of some household song. 

The perfume of some cherished flower, 
Thougli gone from outward sense, belong 

To memory's after-hour. 

So w*ith our words; or harsh or kind 

Uttered, they are not all forgot; 
They have their influence on the mind. 

Pass on — but perish not. 
So with our deeds: for good or ill. 

They have their power scarce understood; 
Then let us use our better will, 

To make them rife with good! 



LIFE S MIRROR. 

There are loyal hearts, there are spirits 
brave. 

There are souls that are pure and true; 
Tlien give the world the best you have. 

And the best will come back to you. 

Give love — and love to your life will flow, 
A strength in your utmost need; 

Have faith — and a score of hearts will show 
Their faith in your word and deed; 



180 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Oive truth — and your gift will be paid in 
kind. 

And honor will honor meet; 
And a smile that is sweet will surely find 

A smile that is just as sweet. 

For lite is the mirror of king and slave, 
'Tis just what you are and do; 

Then give to the world the best you have. 
And the best will come back to you. 



KEEP STEADY. 

Keep steady, young man, keep steady, 

Nor waver when put to the test; 
When Satan assails be ready. 

Defeat him by doing your best. 
With plausible words he advances; 
With cunning he strengthens liis 
chances; 
He does all his planning with care; 
He's wily and wicked. Beware! 

Resist all his sly approaches. 

Yield never an inch to the foe; 
Whenever that foe encroaches, 
Resort to a resolute No! 

With flattery, cunning, he plies you; 
With sympathy, artful he tries you; 
His wiles he keeps well out of sight; 
He comes as an "angel of light"! 

Let truth be your watchword ever. 

Let right be the law of your life. 
With these for your guides you never 
Will suffer defeat in the strife. 

Give battle to vices that tempt you; 
Your virtues can never exempt you; 
Temptations will come, but be strong; 
Give battle to all that is wrong. 



LIFE S PARADOX. 

They told me Wealth was all in all, and 

then, 
With greed that comes alone to famished 

men, 
I strove for wealth; by day and night I 

toiled, 
Nor recked how others fared, what hopes 

were spoiled. 
And when 'twas gained I stopped to count 

my store. 
To count, exult, and, eager, wish it more; 
But as each piece fell on the vault's hard 

stone. 
Mixed with its ring I heard a human groan. 
I started up from the accusing pile, 
Now worse than vain, that did so late be- 
guile! 

They told me Pleasure was the chiefest 

good, 
And so I followed wheresoe'er she would; 
Where light feet led, where mocking lips 

allured. 
And black eyes told my hopes were half 

assured. 



When all was gained, then blight fell on 

my isle — - 
I had been dreaming on a wanton's smile. 

They told me only Knowledge was divine. 
And so I strove straightway to make it 

mine; 
I read all books, held converse with the 

wise, 
Traveled all lands, and searched the dis- 
tant skies. 
Then, standing in the edge of Learning's 

sea, 
I heard the breakers calling thus to me: 
"In vain, O man, my depths thou wouldst 

explore; 
Thy soundings all lie close within the 

shore." 

\V>ealth, Pleasure, Knowledge all in turn 

were tried. 
Yet in the dust it seemed I must abide. 
A spirit came and whispered in my ear, 
And raised me up; then led me to a 
height 
From which we had a vision far and clear 
Of all the world, its peace and joy and 
light. 
The spirit said: "If thou wilt follow me. 
Wilt seek not self, but look beyond, 
above. 
All that thou seest will I give to thee." 
I raised my eyes — the spirit's name was 
Love. Shaleb G. Hillybb. 



THE WATER THAT HAS PASSED. 

Listen to the water-mill, 

Through the live-long day; 
How the clanking of the wheels 

Wears the hours away! 
Languidly the autumn wind 

Stirs the greenwood leaves; 
From the fields the reapers sing. 

Binding up the sheaves; 
And a proverb haunts my mind. 

As a spell is cast; 
"The mill will never grind 

With the water that has passed." 

Take the lesson to thyself. 

Living heart and true; 
Golden years are fleeting by. 

Youth is passing too; 
Learn to make the most of life. 

Lose no happy day; 
Time will never bring thee back 

Chances swept away. 
Leave no tender word unsaid; 

Love while life shall last. 
"The mill will never grind 

With the water that has passed." 

Work while yet the daylight shines, 
Man of strength and will; 

Never does the streamlet glide 
Useless by the mill. 

Wait not until tomorrow's sun 
Beams upon the way; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



181 



All that thou canst call thy own 

Lies in thy today. 

Power, intellect, and health, 

May not, can not last; 
"The mill will never grind 

With the water that has passed." 

Oh! the wasted hours of life 

That have drifted by; 
Oh! the good we might have done. 

Lost without a sigh; 
Love that we might once have saved 

By a single word; 
Thoughts conceived, but never penned, 

Perishing unheard. 
Take the proverb to thine heart. 

Take, oh, hold it fast! — 
"The mill will never grind 

With the water that has passed." 



A CHILD S FANCY. 

My dear little girl climbed up on my knee 
In the dusk, in the summer weather; 

And as happy as two who love can be. 
We Quietly talked together. 

We had stories of bees, of the biids, and 
the trees. 
Of the moon and the stars of even; 
ButUhe little one's thoughts went beyond 
all these, 
And she wanted to talk of heaven. 

"O Mama, they say it is far away, 
The land where there is no dying; 

And I wonder so how we ever can go 
When we have no wings for flying." 

"My little dear, we never should fear; 

Our Father will not forsake us; 
And when he doth care to have us there, 

He will find some way to take us." 

Then the eyes of brown looked dreamily 
down 

O'er the question a sage might ponder, 
A little while, then there came a smile. 

Which was more of delight than wonder. 

"O Mama dear, I've thought of a plan, 

As good as you ever can teach me: 
I'll climb on the fence just as high as I 
can. 
And the Lord won't have far to reach 
me." 

Perhaps I smiled at the thought of the child, 
But there flashed through my heart a 
feeling 
That its depths should be stirred by each 
simple word 
Such a lesson to me revealing. 

How much I had dreamed of the good 
which it seemed 

The Father might give or teach me! 
And yet my feet had never been fleet 

In climbing to help him to reach me. 



And the thought of the child, sweet and 
undefiled. 
Lisped out on that summer even. 
Sank down like a seed in a soil which had 
need 
Of a growth for God and heaven. 

Mbs. Anna R. Hendehson. 



SUBMISSION. 

Not on seas of wild commotion. 
When the crazy tempest raves. 

And the savage voice of Ocean 
Challenges his clamoring caves — 

Not on such the mirrored glory 
Of the great protecting sky; 

Not a billow tells the story 
In reflective sympathy. 

Even when, in broken spirit. 

Waves but sigh along the shore 

Still their motion must inherit 

Shattered, shifting lights — no more. 

But when every sound is muffled. 
And repose, as calm as death. 

Rests upon a sea unruffled 
By a faint, disturbing breath. 

Then the image of its glory 
Answers all the watching sky; 

Humbled waves repeat the story 
In adoring ecstasy. 

JULU H. THiTBB. 



THE FIRST SETTLER S STORY. 

[Abridged for public reading.] 
It ain't the funniest thing a man can do — 

Existing in a country when it's new; 

Nature, who moved in first — a good long 
while — ■ 

Has things already somewhat her own 
style, 

And she don't want her woodland splendors 
battered. 

Her rustic furniture broke up and scat- 
tered. 

Her paintings, which long years ago were 
dona 

By that old splendid artist-king, the sun. 

Torn down and dragged in civilization's 
gutter. 

Or sold to purchase settlers' bread and but- 
ter. 

She don't want things exposed from porch 
to closet. 

And so she kind o' nags the man who does 
it. 

She carries in her pockets bags of seeds. 

As general agent of the thriftiest weeds; 

She sends her blackbirds. In the early morn. 

To superintend his fields of planted corn; 

She gives him rain past any duck's desire — 

Then maybe several weeks of quiet fire; 

She sails mosquitoes — leeches perched on 
wings — 



182 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



To poison him witli blood-devouring stings; 
She loves lier agrue-muscle to display. 
And shake him up — say every other day; 
A\Tth thoushtful, conscientious care she 

makes 
Those travelin' poison-bottles, rattlesnakes; 
She finds time, "mongst her other family 

cares. 
To keep in stock good wild-cats, wolves, 

and bears. 

Well, when I first infested this retreat, 

Things to my view looked frightful incom- 
plete; 

But I had come with heart-thrift in my 
son^. 

And brouglit my wife and plunder riglit 
along; 

I hadn't a round-trip ticket to go back. 

And if I had there wasn't no railroad track; 

And drivin' East was what I couldn't en- 
dure: 

I hadn't started on a circular tour. 

My girl-wife vv-as as brave as slie was 

good. 
And helped me every blessed way she could; 
She seemed to take to every rough old tree. 
As sing'iar as when first she took to me. 
She kep' our little log-house neat as wax. 
And once I caught her fooling with my axe. 
She learned a hundred masculine things 

to do: 
She aimed a shot-gun pretty middlin' true, 
Although, in spite of my express desire, 
She always shut her eyes before she'd fire. 
She liadn't the muscle (though she had 

the heart) 
In out-door work to take an active part: 
Thouph in our firm of Duty and Endeavor 
Sl;e wasn't no silent partner whatsoever 
■\^lien I was logging, burning, choppin' 

wood. 
She'd linger round and help me all she 

could. 
And kept me fresh-ambitious all the while. 
And lifted tons just with her voice and 

smile. 
Witli no desire my glory for to rob, 
She used to Stan' around and boss the job; 
And when first-class success my hands be- 
fell, 
'V\^ouId proudly say, "We did that pretty 

well!" 
She was delicious, both to hear and see — 
That pretty wife-girl that kep' house for 

me. 

Well, neighborhoods meant counties in 
those days; 

The roads didn't have accommodating ways ; 

And maybe weeks would pass before she'd 
see — 

And much less talk with — any one but me. 

The Indians sometimes showed their sun- 
baked faces, 

But they didn't teem with conversational 
graces; 

Some ideas from the birds and trees she 
stole. 



But 'twasn t like talking with a human soul. 
And finally I thought that I could trace 
A lialf heart-liunger peering from her face. 
Then she would drive it back and shut the 

door; 
Of course that only made me see it more. 
'Twas hard to see her give her life to mine. 
Making a steady effort not to pine; 
Twas hard to hear that laugh bloom out 

eacli minute, 
.A.nd recognize the seeds of sorrow in it. 
Xo misery makes a close observer mourn 
Like hopeless grief with hopeful courage 

borne; 
There's nothing sets the sympathies to 

paining 
Like a complaining woman uncomplaining. 
It always draws my breath out into sighs 
To see a brave look in a woman's eyes. 

Well, siie went on, as plucky as could be, 
Figliting tlie foe she thought I did not see. 
And using her heart-liorticultural powers 
To turn that forest to a bed of flowers. 
Tou can not check an unadmitted sigh. 
And so I had to soothe her on the sly. 
And secretly to help her draw her load; 
And soon it came to be an up-hill road. 
Hard work bears liard upon the average 

pulse. 
Even witli satisfactory results; 
But when effects are scarce, tlie lieavy 

strain 
Falls dead and solid on tlie heart and brain. 
And when we're bothered, it will oft occur 
We seek blame-timber: and I lit on her; 
And looked at her with daily lessening fa- 
vor. 
And when I knew she couldn't help, to save 

her. 
And Discord, when he once had called and 

seen us. 
Came round quite often, and edged in be- 
tween us. 

One night, when I came home unusual 

late. 
Too hungry and too tired to feel first-rate. 
Her supper struck me wrong (though I'll 

allow 
She hadn't much to strike with, anyhow) ; 
And when I went to milk the cows, and 

found 
They'd wandered from their usual feeding 

ground. 
And maybe'd left a few long miles beliiiid 

'em. 
Which I must copy, if I meant to find 'em. 
Flash-quick the stay-chains of m.v temper 

broke. 
And in a trice these hot words I had spoke: 
"You ought to've kept the animals in view, 
And drove 'em in: you'd nothing else to do. 
The heft of all our life on me must fall; 
You just lie round, and let me do it all." 

That speech — it hadn't been gone a half 
a minute 
Before I saw the cold black poison in it; 
And I'd Iiave given all I had, and more,^ 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



183 



To've only safely got it back in-door. 

I'm now what most folks "well-to-do" would 

call: 
I feel today as if I'd give it all. 
Provided i through fifty years might reach 
And kill and bury that half-minute speech. 

She handed back no words, as I could 

hear; 
She didn't frown: she didn't shed a tear; 
Half proud, half crushed, she stood and 

looked me o'er. 
Like some one she had never seen before! 
But such a sudden anguish-lit surprise 
I never viewed before in human eyes. 
(I've seen it oft enough since in a dream; 
It sometimes wakes me like a midnight 

scream.) 

Next morning, when, stone-faced, but 

heavy-hearted. 
With dinner pail and sharpened axe I 

started 
Away for my day's work — she watched the 

door. 
And followed me half way to it or more: 
And I was just a-turning round at this, 
And asking for my usual good-by kiss; 
But on her lip I saw a proudish curve. 
And in her eye a shadow of reserve; 
And she had shown — perhaps half una- 
wares — 
Some little independent breakfast airs; 
And so the usual parting didn't occur, 
Although her eyes invited me to her; 
Or rather half invited me, for she 
Didn't advertise to furnish kisses free; 
You always had — that is, I had — to pay 
Full market price, and go more'n half the 

way. 
So, with a short "Good-by." I shut the door. 
And left her as I never had before. 
But when at noon my lunch I came to eat, 
Put up by her so delicately neat — 
Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had 

been. 
And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd 

put in — 
"Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew 

they meant — 
It seemed as if her kiss with me she'd sent; 
Then I became once more her humble lover. 
And said. "Tonight I'll ask forgiveness of 

her." 

I went home over-early on that eve. 
Having contrived to make myself believe. 
By various signs I kind o" knew and 

guessed, 
A thunder-storm was coming from the west. 
('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills the 

heart. 
How many honest ones will take its part: 
A dozen first-class reasons said 'twas right 
That I should strike home early on that 

night.) 

Half out of breath, the cabin door I 
swung. 
With tender heart-words trembling on my 
tongue; 



But all within looked desolate and bare: 
My house had lost its soul, — she was not 

there! 
A penciled note was on the table spread. 
And these are something like the words it 

said: 
"The cows have strayed away again, I fear; 
I watched them pretty close; don't scold me. 

deaf. 
And where they are, I think I nearly know; 
I heard the bell not very long ago. . . . 
I've hunted for them all the afternoon; 
I'll try once more — I think I'll find them 

soon. 
Dear, if a burden I have been to you. 
And haven't helped you as I ought to do, 
Let old-time memories my forgiveness 

plead; 
I've tried to do my best — I have, indeed. 
Darling, piece out with love the strength 

I lack. 
And have kind words for me when I get 

back." 

Scarce did I give this letter sight and 

tongue- 
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window 

clung. 
And from the clouds a rough, deep growl 

proceeded: 
My thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't 

needed. 
I rushed out-door. The air was stained with 

black: 
Night had come earl.v, on the storm-cloud's 

back: 
And everything kept dimming to the sight. 
Save when the clouds threw their electric 

light: 
When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the view. 
I'd think I saw her — knowing 'twas not 

true. 
Through my small clearing dashed wide 

sheets of spray. 
As if the ocean waves had lost their way; 
Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made, 
In the bold clamor of its cannonade. 
And she, while I was sheltered, dry, and 

warm. 
Was somewhere in the clutches of this 

storm! 
She who, when storm-frights found her ^t 

her best. 
Had always hid her white face on my 

breast! 

My dog, who'd skirmished round me all 

the day, 
Now crouched and whimpering. In a corner 

lay; 
I dragged him by the collar to the wall. 
I pressed his quivering muzzle to a shawl— 
"Track her, old boy!" I shouted; and he 

whined. 
Matched eyes with me, as if to read my 

mind. 
Then with a yell went tearing through the 

wood. 
I followed him, as faithful as I could. 
No pleasure-trip was that, through flood 

and flame: 



18J 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



We raced with death; we hunted noble 

game. 
All night we dragged the woods without 

avail; 
The ground got drenched — we could not 

keep the trail. 
Three times again my cabin home I found, 
Halt hoping she might be here, safe and 

sound; 
But each time 'twas an unavailing care: 
My house had lost its soul; she was not 

there! 

When, climbing the wet trees, next morn- 
ing-sun 
Laughed at the ruin that the night had 

done, 
Bleeding and drenched, by toil and sorrow 

bent, 
Back to what used to be my home I went. 
But as I neared our little clearing-ground — 
Listen! — I heard the cow-bell's tinkling 

sound. 
The cabin door was just a bit ajar; 
It gleamed upon my glad eyes like a star. 
"Brave heart," I said, "for such a fragile 

form! 
She made them guide her homeward through 

the storm!" 
Such pangs of joy I never felt before. 
"You've come!" I shouted, and rushed 

through the door. 

Tes, she had come — and gone again. She 

lay 
■WSth all her young life crushed and 

wrenched away — 
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among, 
Not far from where I killed her with my 

tongue. 
The rain-drops glittered 'mid her hair's 

long strands. 
The forest thorns had torn her feet and 

hands. 
And 'midst the tears — brave tears — that one 

could trace 
IJpon the pale but sweetly resolute face, 
I once again the mournful words could 

read, 
"I've tried to do my best — I have, indeed." 

And now I'm mostly done; my story's 

o'er; 
Part of it never breathed the air before. 
'Tisn't over-usual, it must be allowed. 
To volunteer heart-history to a crowd. 
And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears. 
But you'll protect an old man with his 

years ; 
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can 

reach. 
This is the sermon I would have it preach: 

Boys flying kites haul in their white- 
winged birds; 
Tou can't do that way when you're flying 

words. 
"Careful with fire." is good advice we know: 
"Careful with words," is ten times doubly 
so. 



Thoughts unexpressed may sonietimes fall 
back dead. 

But God himself can't kill them when 
they're said! 

You have my life-grief: do not think a 
minute 

'Twas told to take up time. There's busi- 
ness in it. 

It sheds advice; whoe'er will take and live 
It, 

Is welcome to the pain it costs to give it. 

Will Caeleton. 



LITTLE FEET. 

Two little feet so small that both may nes- 
tle 

In one caressing hand. 
Two tender feet upon the untried border 

Of life's mysterious land. 

Dimpled and soft, and pink as peacli-tree 
blossoms 
In April's fragrant days. 
How can they walk among the briery tan- 
gles 
Edging the world's rough ways? 

These white-rose feet along the doubtful 
future 

Must bear a woman's load; 
Alas! since woman has the heaviest burden 

And walks the hardest road. 

Love for a while will make the path be- 
fore them 

All dainty, smooth, and fair — • 
Will cull away the brambles, letting only 

The roses blossom there. 

But when the mother's watchful eyes are 
shrouded 
Away from the sight of men, 
."Vnd these dear feet are left without her 
guiding. 
Who shall direct them then? 

Will they go stumbling blindly in the dark- 
ness 
Of sorrow's tearful shades. 
Or find the upland slopes of peace and 
beauty. 
Whose sunlight never fades? 

WUll they go toiling up ambition's summit, 

The common world above: 
Or, in some nameless vale, securely shel- 
tered. 

Walk side by side with love? 

Some feet there be which walk Life's track 
unwounded, 
■Which find but pleasant ways; 
Some hearts there be to which this life is 
only 
A round of happy days; 

But they are few. Far more there are who 
wander 
Without a hope or friend; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



185 



Who find their journey full of pains and 
losses, 
And long to reach the end. 

How shall it be with her, the tender 
stranger, 
Fair-faced and gentle-eyed, 
Before whose unstained feet the world's 
rude highway 
Stretches so strange and wide? 

Ah! who may read the future? For our 
darling 
We crave all blessings sweet. 
And pray that He who feeds the crying 
ravens 
Will guide the baby's feet. 

Flobbnch Pebct. 



THE LESSON OF THE ROSE. 

I tore a rose apart. 

Revealed its inmost heart. 
Some hidden secret hoping to disclose. 

The leaves fell to the ground; 

I bared its heart, but found 
No secret hidden, and I spoiled my rose! 

No hand but one divine 

Could make this rose of mine. 
No power but God's create such loveliness; 

But how the roses grow 

I know not nor can know; 
I only know their beauty is to bless. 

O Life which made them live! 

O Love which longs to give 
All that thy creatures need or can desire! 

The feeling overpowers 

My soul that in the flowers 
Thou gavest even more than we require. 

Ye who philosophize 

As others botanize. 
Who pluck the truth apart shred after 
shred, 

WTiat recompense is there 

To pay you for despair 
When God forsakes you and your faith lies 
dead? 

There is one Book, but one; 

Although the summer sun 
Calls forth a million roses every year. 

There is one Book, but one! 

This dark world were u.ndone 
If, like the roses, it should disappear. 

Here is the thouglit which flows 

In fragrance from the rose. 
The rose which careless fingers pull apart: 

Who seeks to penetrate 

A thing so delicate 
Should come with gentle hands and rever- 
ent heart; 

Come with a mind devout. 

Undaunted by a doubt; 
Come with a soul subdued, a faith supreme. 
As thou wouldst touch a rose — 

Softly — He will disclose 
To thy hushed heart things which thou 
canst not dream! 

GSACa PEABL BBONATiaH. 



THE RAINBOW. 

I sometimes have thought in my loneliest 

hours, 
That lie on my heart like the dew on the 

flowers. 
Of a ramble I took one bright afternoon, 
Wlien my heart was as light as a blossom 

in June. 
The green earth was moist with the late 

fallen showers; 
The breeze fluttered down and blew open 

the flowers; 
While a single white cloud to its haven of 

rest, 
On the white wing of peace floated oft in 

the west 

As I threw back my tresses to catch the 
cool breeze 

That scattered the raindrops and dimpled 
the seas, 

Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow un- 
rolled 

Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold. 

'Twas born in a moment, yet, quick as its 
birth, 

It has stretched to the uttermost ends of 
the earth ; 

And, fair as an angel, it floated all free. 

With a wing on the earth and a wing on 
the sea. 

How calm was the ocean! how gentle its 

swell! 
Like a woman's soft bosom, it rose and 

it fell; 
While its light sparkling waves, stealing 

laughingly o'er, 
A\1ien they saw the fair rainbow, knelt 

down to the shore. 
No sweet hymn ascended, no murmur of 

prayer. 
Yet I felt that the spirit of worship was 

there. 
And bent my young head in devotion and 

love 
'Neath the form of the angel that floated 

above. 

How wide was the sweep of its beautiful 
wings! 

How boundless its circle! how radiant its 
rings! 

If I looked on the sky. 'twas suspended in 
air; 

If I looked on the ocean, the rainbow was 
th ere ; 

Thus forming a girdle as brilliant and 
whole 

As the thoughts of the rainbow that cir- 
cled my soul; 

Like the wing of the Deity, calmly un- 
furled. 

It bent from the cloud, and encircled the 
world. 

There are moments, I think, when the 
spirit receives 

Whole volumes of thought on its unwrit- 
ten leaves: 



186 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



When the folds of the heart in a moment 
unclose, 

Like the innermost leaves from the heart 
of a rose; 

And thus, when the rainbow had passed 
from the sky. 

The thoughts it awoke were too deep to 
pass by: 

It left my full soul like the wing of a dove. 

And fluttering with pleasure, and flutter- 
ing with love. 

I know that each moment of rapture or 
pain 

But shortens the links in life's mystical 
chain; 

I know that my form, like that bow from 
the wave. 

May pass from the earth and lie cold in 
the grave; 

Yet oh! when death's shadows ray bosom 
uncloud, 

When I shrink from the thought of the cof- 
fin and shroud. 

May Hope, like the rainbow, my spirit un- 
fold 

In her beautiful pinions of purple and 
gold. 



IT TAKES SO LITTLE. 

It takes so little to make us sad; 

Just a slighting word or a doubting sneer. 

Just a scornful smile on some lips held 

dear. 
And our footsteps lag, though the goal 

seemed near. 
And we lose the courage and hope we had — 
So little it takes to make us sad. 

It takes so little to make us glad; 
Just the cheering clasp of a friendly hand. 
Just a word from one who can understand 
And we finish the task we long had planned. 
And we lose the doubt and the fear we 

had— 
So little it takes to make us glad. 

Ida Gold-smith Mohris. 



CONQUERED AT LAST. 

[Shortly after the last yellow-fever scourge swept 
op the Mississippi Valley, the Mobile Newfi offered 
a prize for the poem by a Southern writer which 
Rhoulc] best express the sratitu'le of the Southern 
heart toward the people of the North for the philan- 
thropy and the maprnanimity so nobly and freely dis- 
played during the pestilence. This offer called forth 
seventy-seven compositions from various parts of the 
South. The prize was tinally awarded to Miss Maria 
L. Eve. of Augusta, Ga.. the author of "Conquered 
at Last."] 

You came to us once, O brothers, in wrath. 
And rude desolation followed your path. 

You conquered us then, but only in part. 
For a stubborn thing is the human heart. 

So the mad wind blows in his might and 
main. 



And the forests bend to his breath like 
grain, 

Their heads in the dust and their branches 

broke; 
But how shall he soften their hearts of oak? 

You swept o'er our land like the whirl- 
wind's wing. 
But the human heart is a stubborn thing. 

We laid down our arms, we yielded our will. 
But our heart of hearts was unconquered 
still. 

"We are vanquished," we said, "but our 

wounds must heal"; 
We gave you our swords, but our hearts 

were steel. 

"We are conquered," we said, but our hearts 

were sore. 
And "woe to the conquered" on every door. 

But the spoiler came, and lie would not 

spare. 
And the angel that walketh in darkness 

was there. 

He walked through the valley, walked 

through the street. 
And he left the print of his fiery feet. 

In the dead, dead, dead, that were every- 
where. 
And buried away with never a prayer. 

From the desolate land, from its very heart. 
There went forth a cry to the uttermost 
part. 

You heard it, O brothers! witli never a 

measure 
You opened your hearts, and poured out 

your treasure. 

O sisters of mercy, you gave above these! 
For you helped, we know, on your bended 
knees. 

Your pity was human, but oh! it was more 
When you. shared our cross and our bur- 
den bore. 

Your lives in your hands, you stood by our 

side; 
Your lives for our lives — you lay down and 

died. 

And no preater love hath a man to give 
Than to lay down his life that his friends 
may live. 

You poured in our wounds the oil and the 

wine 
That you brought to us from a hand divine. 

You conquered us once, and our swords we 

gave; 
Wfi yield now our hearts — they are all we 

have. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



187 



Our last trench was there, and it held out 

long; 
It Is yours, O friends! and you'll find it 

strong. 

Tour love had a magic diviner than art, 
And "Conquered by Kindness" we'll write 
on our heart. 

Maru l. Evb. 



THE WORD THAT COUNTS. 

A little word of loving is more to her than 

wealth, 
A little word of tenderness is just the same 

as health: 
It brings the bright hopes shining and it 

keeps the doubt away: 
A little word of loving — take it home to 

her today! 

A little word of loving mid her worry and 

her care — ■ 
It clears the household shadows, and it 

sweetens married air; 
It keeps the young cheeks glowing with the 

rose-glow of loved youth: 
A little word of loving is her idea of the 

truth! 

A little word of loving lifts the shadows 
from her mind; 

It keeps the spirit gentle and the disposi- 
tion kind; 

But when you say it, feel it, or shell know 
— ah, yes, she will — 

It's only something acted, like the trage- 
dies that kill! 



MORNING GIFTS. 

The kiss that you gave me this morning. 

It has clung to my lips all day! 
A jewel of love's fair adorning. 

To treasure while you are away; 
A gem far more precious tlian rubies, 

As pure as a heart of the sea; 
In my heart's hidden casket I place it. 

With the joy it has given to me. 

The look that you gave me this morning, 

I have seen it today everywhere. 
With its loving glow cheering and warming 

The gloom and the chill in the air! 
The shadow-s have been but as sunbeams. 

Life has seemed all so joyous and free, 
For the tender love-light in the dear eyes 

You gave in the morning to me. 

The words that you gave me this morning. 

They have echoed for me all day long! 
The flowers seemed more sweetly adorning. 

And the birds had a merrier song. 
Ah, the long hours have been. oh. so happy! 

So glad all the toil of today! 
For the kiss and the look and the sweet 
words 

Tou gave me at going away. 



LOVE AND PET ME NOW. 

Take my withered hand in yours. 

Children of my soul; 
Mother's heart is craving love. 

Mother's growing old; 
See, the snows of many years 

Crown my furrowed brow. 
As I've loved and petted you. 

Love and pet me now. 

Lay your hand upon my head. 

Smooth my whitened hair; 
I've been growing old the while 

You've been growing fair. 
I have toiled and prayed for you — 

Ask not why or how. 
As I've loved and petted you. 

Love and pet me now. 

Take my withered hand in yours, 

Children of my heart. 
Mother's growing old; your love 

Makes life's sweetest part. 
Touch witli love my faded cheeks. 

Kiss my anxious brow; 
As I've loved and petted you, 

Love and pet me now. 

Take my withered hands in yours. 

Hold them close and strong; 
Cheer me witli a fond caress, 

'Twill not be for long; 
Youtli immortal soon will crown 

With its wreath my brow. 
As I loved and petted you, 

Love and pet me now. 

Take my witliered hand in yours. 

This your heart will prove; 
If you owe me anything. 

Pay the debt with love. 
Press me in your strong young arms, 

Breathe a loving vow; 
As I've loved and petted you. 

Love and pet me now. 

T. B. I^BIMOBX. 



THE EMPTY LIVES. 

So many die that have not lived at all; 
It is as though they journeyed through 
the years 
Upon a path hedged by a gloomy wall 

Of other people's little frets and fears. 

Beyond the wall the joyous fields stretch 

out 

And there are little paths to lure the feet. 

But duty framed by others of their doubt 

Has made them feel the by-paths are 

not meet. 

To spend their days with friends tliey did 
not choose: 
They toil at tasks unfitted for their 
hands; 
They join the chorus of them that abusA 
The one who lives — because he under- 
stands; 



188 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



They sing the songs the others bid them 
sing. 
While in their souls are stifled marvel- 
strains; 
They build and they destroy, they fetch 
and bring; 
They fume of petty losses and of gains. 

They count as truth the rote that they are 
told, 
They spurn as lies whatever they are bid; 
They ban as heretic the overbold 

The one who would uncover what is hid. 
And they succeed — they say they have suc- 
cess 
And call another careless, blind, and weak 
Who finds the joy they may not even guess, 
Who reaches goals they may not even 
seek. 

What if some dazzling outburst of the light 
Should show them how supremely far 
they miss 
The core of life, the lasting truth and 
right? 
But Fate is kind, and does not deal them 
this. 
It is as though they plodded through dead 
years 
Upon a path hedged by a barren wall 
Of other people's little frets and fears — 
So many die, and have not lived at all. 



REST. 

Rest is not quitting 
The busy career; 

Rest is the fitting 

Of self to one's sphere. 

*Tls the brook's motion. 
Clear without strife. 

Fleeting to ocean 
After its life. 

'Tis loving and serving 
The highest and best: 

'Tis onward unswerving; 
And this is true rest. 



A NEW LEAF. 

He came to my desk with a quivering lip — 

The lesson was done — 
"Dear teacher, I want a new leaf," he said; 

"I have spoiled this one." 
In place of the leaf so stained and blotted, 
I gave him a new one all unspotted, 

And into his sad eyes smiled — 

"Do better now, my child." 

I went to the throne with a quivering soul — 

The old year was done — 
"Dear Father, hast thou a new leaf for me? 

I have spoiled this one." 
He took the old leaf, stained and blotted. 
And gave me a new one all unspotted. 

And into my sad heart smiled — 

"Do better now, my child." 



SHINE JUST WHERE YOU ARE. 

Don't waste your time in longing 

For bright, impossible things; 
Don't sit supinely yearning 

For the swiftness of angel wings; 
Don't spurn to be a rushlight, 

Because you are not a star; 
But brighten some bit of darkness 

By shining just where you are. 

There is need of the tiniest candle 

As well as the garish sun; 
The humblest deed is enobled 

When it is worthily done. 
You may never be called to brighten 

The darkened regions afar; 
So, fill, for the day, your mission 

By shining Just where you are. 



GOD S WILL FOR US. 

Just to be tender, just to be true; 

Just to be glad the whole day through; 

Just to be merciful, just to be mild; 

Just to be trustful as a child; 

Just to be gentle and kind and sweet; 

Just to be helpful with willing feet; 

Just to be cheery when things go wrong; 

Just to drive sadness away with a song. 

Whether the hour is dark or bright; 

Just to be loyal to God and right; 

Just to believe that God knows best; 

Just in his promise ever to rest; 

Just to let love be our daily key: 

This is God's will, for you and me. 



ROCK OF AGES. 

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — 
Thoughtlessly the maiden sung; 

Fell the words unconsciously 
From her girlish, gleeful tongue: 

Sang as little children sing. 

Sang as sing the birds in June; 

Fell the words as light leaves down 
On the current of the tune — 

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 

Let me hide myself in thee" 



"Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — 
*Twas a woman sung them now. 
Sung them slow and wearily, 

Wan hand on her aching brow; 
Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 

Beats with weary wing the air; 
Every note with sorrow stirred. 

Every syllable a prayer — 
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in thee" 

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," — 
Lips grown aged sung the hymn 

Trustingly and tenderly: 

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dtm- 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



189 



"Let me hide myself in tliee. " 

Trembling though the voice and low, 
Ran the sweet strain peacefully, 

Lilce a river in its flow; 
Sung as only they can sing 

Who life's thorny paths have pressed; 
Sung as only they can sing 

Who behold the promised rest — 
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in thee." 

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — 

Sung above a coffin lid; 
Underneath all restfuUy 

All life's joys and sorrows hid. 
Never more, oh, storm-tossed soul. 

Never more from wind and tide. 
Never more from billows' roll. 

Wilt thou ever need to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes 

Closed beneath the soft, white hair; 
Could the mute and stiffened lips 

Move again in pleading prayer, 
Still, aye still, the words would be — 
"Let me hide myself in thee." 



THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

'Tis the last rose of summer, 

Left blooming alone; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone; 
No flower of her kindred. 

No rosebud is nigh. 
To reflect back her blushes. 

Or give sigli for sigh. 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one. 

To pine on the stem; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go sleep tliou with them; 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed. 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, 
Wlien friendships decay. 

And from love's shining circle 
The gems drop away! 

When true liearts lie withered. 
And fond ones are flown. 

Oh! who would inhabit 
This bleak world alone? 



THE GLAD HOMELAND. 

Life changes all our thoughts of heaven: 
At first we think of streets of gold. 
Of gates of pearl and dazzling white. 
Of shining wings and robes of light. 
And things all strange to mortal sight; 
But in the afterward of years 
It is a more familiar place — 
A home unhurt by sigh or tears, 
Where waiteth many a well-known face. 
With passing months it comes more near. 



It grows more real day by day. 
Not strange nor cold, but very dear — 
The glad homeland not far away. 
Where none are sick or poor or lone. 
The place where we shall find our own. 
And as we think of all we knew 
Wlio there have met to part no more, 
Our longing hearts desire home, too. 
With all the strife and trouble o'er. 



SHALL WE FIND THEM AT THE 
PORTALS? 

Will they meet us, cheer, and greet us, 
Those we've loved who've gone before? 

Shall we find them at the portals. 

Find our beautiful immortals. 

When we reach that radiant .shore? 

Hearts are broken for some token 
Tliat they live and love us yet! 
And we ask, "Can those who've left us, 
Of love's look and tone bereft us, 

Though in heaven, can they forget?" 

And we often, as days soften, 

And comes out the evening star. 
Looking westward, sit and wonder 
■Wliether, when so far asunder, 

They still think how dear they are. 

Past yon portals, our immortals — 
Those who walk with Him in white — 

Do they, mid their bliss, recall us? 

Know they what events befall us? 
Will our coming wake delight? 

They will meet us, cheer and greet us. 
Those we've loved who've gone before; 

We shall find them at the portals. 

Find our beautiful immortals. 

When we reach that radiant shore. 

J. B. Rankin, 



GIVE THEM THE FLOWERS NOW. 

Closed eyes can't see the white roses; 

Cold hands can't hold them, you know; 
Breath that is stilled can not gather 

The odors that sweet from them blow. 
Death, with a peace beyond dreaming. 

Its children of earth doth endow; 
Life is the time we can help them; 

So give them the flowers now! 

Here are the struggles and striving; 

Here are the cares and the tears; 
Now is the time to be smoothing 

The frowns and the furrows and fears. 
What, to closed ears, are kind sayings? 

What, to hushed heart, is deep vow? 
Naught can avail after parting — 

So give them the flowers now. 

Just a kind word or a greeting; 

Just a warm clasp or a smile — 
These are the flowers that will lighten 



190 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Tile burdens for many a mile. 
After tlie journey is over 

■VVliat is the use of them? how 
Can they carry them, who must be carried? 

Oil, give them tlie flowers now! 

Blooms from the happy heart's garden. 

Plucked in tlie spirit of love; 
Blooms that are earthly reflections 

Of flowers that blossom above — 
Words can not tell what a measure 

Of blessing such gifts will allow 
To dwell in the lives of many; 

So give them the flowers now. 



SOMETHING SURE. 

"What a pity nothing ever 

Has a beauty that will stay!" 
Said our thoughtful little Nellie, 

Stopping briefly in her play. 
"AH these velvet pansies withered — 

And I picked them just today!" 

"And there's nothing very certain," 
Answered Bess with face demure; 

"When it rains we can't go driving — 
I wish promises were truer! 

I could rest, if 1 were certain 
Of a single thing that's sure!" 

Grandma smiled from out her corner, 
Smoothing back a soft gray tress; 

"Sixtj- seconds make a minute; 
Did you know it, little Bess? 

Sixty minutes make an hour. 
Never more, and never less. 

■"For tlie seconds in a minute. 

Whether full of work or fun, 
•Or the minutes in an hour. 

Never number sixty-one! 
That is one thing that is certain 

Ever since tlie world begun. 

"Though the rose may lose its crimson 

And the buttercup its gold, 
There is something, through all changes, 

You may always surely hold: 
Truth can never lose its beauty 

Nor its strength by growing old." 



LIFE. 



I asked a crimson, blushing rose. 
Rejoicing after winter snows, 
"WJiat secret holds the coming year? 
Say, what is life — why are we here?" 
It raised its slender, stately head. 
And on its scented breath it said, 
"My only mission is to bloom 
And scatter round me sweet perfume.' 

Upon a branching bough aloft, 
A sweet- voiced bird was trilling soft; 
I listened till my soul was stirred, 
And bid it give its song in word — 
"Teach me the meaning of the days." 



It raised to heaven its note of praise. 
And fluttered soft Its silver wing: 
"My only business Is to sing." 

A child with eyes so soft and bright. 
Where lingers still the heavenly light, 
^\liose guardian angels, by His grace, 
Behold always the Father's face — 
This little one I bid me tell 
The meaning that he knew so well; 
The answer came as from above: 
"My Father put me here to love." 

O weary heart and aching brain. 
Why puzzles seek to read in vain. 
As groping sick at heart we grow, 
For what we may not, can not know. 
And lose the meaning of the things 
A simple love and trusting brings, 
Till to a little child we go 
For what our wisdom may not know? 



WHAT IS LIFE> 

"Life is a song," so piped the thrush 
Perched on a sweet, white-blossomed bush. 
" 'Tis an awakening," said the rose, 
■Rliose blushing petals 'gan to unclose. 
" 'Tis pleasure," breathed the butterfly. 
Kissing the rose and fluttering by. 
" 'Tis work," buzzed the busy bee, 
Sipping the rose sweets greedily. 
" 'Tis freedom," shrieked the eagle proud. 
Piercing the fleecy summer cloud. 
From leaf copse tlie gentle dove 
Cooed, softly, murmuring, "Life Is love" 
" 'Tis labor, that, and nothing more," 
The wave moaned, breaking on the shore. 
"A dream," the mist sighed, "set with tears." 
The soft rain wept, " 'Tis tears, all tears." 

FBED LTaTKB. 



THE DREAMER. 

He loves to watch the waves at play 
Leap up the rocks with ceaseless roar 

And see their snowy, showering spray 
Dissolve in pearls along tlie shore. 

The western sky is dear to him 

When rosy day with twilight blends 

And on the ocean's purple rim 

The sun, a globe of flame, descends. 

The white clouds sailing in the blue. 
The white stars peering through the 
night, 

He loves because they bring to view 
The fringes of tlie infinite. 

He hears the music of the skies, 

The thunder's bass, the song of birds, 

And vainly tries to crystallize 

His .soul's rich harmonies into words. 

And wandering in the autumn woods. 
Far from tlie sight of human face. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



191 



His fancy nUa the solitudes 

With shapes of beauty and of grace. 

What boots iiis idle dreams to those 

Wlio with unconquerable will 
Toil from the dawn till daylight's close 

To keep the world from standing still? 

He smiles and says his dreaming tends 
To show the beauty of design, 

To shape men's lives to nobler ends 
And draw them nearer the divine. 



TURNING THE FLOWERS. 

Out in the country, where two roads met. 

A cottage with open door I found: 
The board for the evening meal was set, 

The good wife bustled busily round. 
It was homely and plain, but oh! so sweet, 

With rose and lavender freshly culled, 
And there, in a cradle, just at my feet, 

A beautiful babe to sleep lay lulled. 

I sat me down, with a bidden right, 

And a sense of comfort over me stole. 
The board, though homely, was clean and 
white. 
And flowers were upon it — set in a bowl; 
And the good wife said unto me, her guest. 
As she twisted the blooms in the bowl so 
brown; 
"I like to turn what are freshest and best 
To the side where tlie man of the house 
sits down." 

I looked at the flowers — so white, so red; 
I gazed at the happy-faced, busy wife, 
And, "That is a nice idea," I said; 
"I wish we could carry it all throutrh life. 
For the world wouJd be a far happier place. 
And many a glint through the darkness 
loom. 
If we 'turned the flowers' with a tactful 
grace. 
And showed the glory instead of the 
gloom." 



SONGS UNSUNG. 

Sweet the song of the thrush at dawning. 
When the grass lies wet with spangled 
dew; 
Sweet the sound of the brook's low whisper 
Mid reeds and rushes wandering through; 
Clear and pure is the west wind's murmur. 
That croons in the branches all daj- long; 
But the songs unsung are the sweetest 
music. 
And the dreams that die are the soul of 
song. 

The fairest hope is the one which faded. 
The brightest leaf is the leaf that fell; 

The song that leaped from the lips of 
sirens 
Dies away in an old sea-shell. 



Far to the heights of viewless fancy 
The soul's swift flight like a swallow 
goes. 
For the note unheard Is the bird's best 
carol. 
And the bud unblown is the reddest rose. 

Deepest thoughts are the ones unspoken. 

That only the heart-sense, listening, 
hears; 
Most great joys bring a touch of silence. 

Greatest grief is in unshed tears. 
\Miat we liear is the fleetest echo; 

A song dies out, but a dream lives on; 
The rose-red tints of the rarest mornins 

Are lingering yet in a distant dawn. 

Somewhere, dim in the days to follow. 

And far away in the life to be. 
Passing sweet is a song of gladness. 

The spirit-chant of the soul set free. 
Chords untouched are the ones we wait for. 

That never rise from the harp unstrung:; 
We turn our steps to the years beyond us. 

And listen still for the songs unsung 
ERNESl McGaffat. 



A QUERY. 

Ah, mel and what is life? 

An ardent, anxious, chequered race 
With Time, a little breathing space 
Of care and strife. 

And whither does it lead? 

Alas! poor fools, ye little know 

To what sad goal or bitter woe 

Our courses speed. 

And wherefore is it so? 

■Oliy should we struggle, fight, an . die, 
Not knowing whence we come, or 'v ny. 
Or whither go? 

If death be life indeed, 

^\Tiy should we longer tarry here 
Beset by hope and doubt and fear — 
Why not be freed? 

Tet why do I deplore 

My present lot? If God so will 
That I should tarry longer still, 
Need I ask more? 

And if this life be sad. 

Will death no brighter prospect bring? 
Will it not lose the only sting 

It might have had? 

And If to die be gain, 

Will not my gain be greater still 
To leave this world with all its ill 
And all its pain? 

Oh, why should I repine? 

To him who marks the sparrow's fall 
Shall I not leave my life, my all — 
Ay, even mine? 



192 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ONLY A STEP. 

Only a step between life and death, 
Length of a heart-beat, span of a breath! 
Think of it, soul! — but an instant's flight. 
From here and now to the judgment light. 

Only a step! Tet it means the span 
Of fate's vast arc to the soul of man! 
The parting paths and the choice, today: 
Tomorrow, the infinite, changeless way. 



OVER AND OVER AGAIN. 

Over and over again, 

No matter which way I turn, 
I always find in the book of life 

Some lesson I have to learn. 
I must taka my turn at the mill, 

1 must grind out the golden grain. 
I must work at my task with a resolute will. 

Over and over again. 

We can not measure the need 

Of even the tiniest flower. 
Nor check the flow of the golden sands 

That run through a single hour; 
But the morning dews must fall. 

And the sun and the summer rain 
Must do their part, and perform it all 

Over and over again. 

Over and over again 

The brook through the meadows flows. 
Over and over again 

The ponderous mill wheel goes; 
Once doing will not suffice. 

Though doing be not in vain; 
And a blessing failing us twice 

May come if we try again. 

The path that has once been trod 

Is never so rough to the feet, 
And tlie lesson we once have learned 

Is never so hard to repeat. 
Thouigh sorrowful tears must fall. 

And the heart to its depths be driven 
■With storm and tempest we need them all 

To render us meet for heaven. 

JOSEPHINB roLLARP. 



TIRED MOTHERS. 

A little elbow leans upon your knee. 

Tour tired knee that has so much to bear; 
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 

From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. 
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch 

Of warm, moist fingers holding yours so 
tight; 
Tou do not prize this blessing overmuch, 

Tou are almost too tired to pray tonight. 

But it is blessedness! A year ago 
I did not see it as I do today — 

We are so dull and thankless, and so slow 
To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 



And now it seems surpassing strange to me 
That while I wore the badge of mother- 
hood 
I did not kiss more oft and tenderly 

The little child that brought me only 
good. 

And if some night when you sit down forest 
You miss this elbow from your tired knee, 
This restless curly head from oft your 
breast. 
This lisping tongue that chatters con- 
stantly; 
If from your own the dimpled hand had 

slipped, 
And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; 
If the white feet into the grave had tripped, 
I could not blame you for your heartache 
then. 

I wonder so that mothers ever fret 

At little children clinging to their gown, 
Or that the footprints, when the days are 
wet. 

Are ever black enough to make them 
frown. 
If I could nd a little muddy boot. 

Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor; 
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot. 

And hear it patter in my home once more; 

If I could mend a broken cart today, 

Tomorrow make a kite to reach the sky, — 
There is no woman in God's world could say 

She was more blissfully content than I. 
But ah! the dainty pillow next my own 

Is never rumpled by a shining head; 
My singing birdling from its nest has 
flowr — 

The little boy I used to kiss is dead! 
Mart Riplet Suith. 



FOUR MOTTOS. 

"Look up, not down!" Do you see how the 
tree-top 
Rejoices in sunshine denied to its root? 
And hear how the lark, gazing skyward, 
is flooding 
The world with his song, while the 
ground-bird is mute? 

"Look out and not in!" See the sap rush- 
ing outward. 
In leaf, bud, and blossom; all winter it 
lay 
Imprisoned, while earth wore a white deso- 
lation; 
Now nature is glad with the beauty of 
May. 

"Look forward, not back!" 'Tis the chant 
of Creation, 
The chime of the seasons as onward they 
roll; 
'Tis the pulse of the world, 'tis the hope of 
the ages, 
'Tis the voice of our God in the depths 
of the soul. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



193 



"Lend a hand!" Like the sun that turns 
night into morning, 
The moon that drives storm-driven sail- 
ors to land. 
Ah, life were worth living, with this for 
the watchword: 
"Look up, out, and forward, and each 
lend a hand!" 

Alicu Freeman Palmer. 



FORGIVE AND FORGET. 

Forgive and forget! 'Tis a maxim worth 
heeding. 
Recall the harsh judgment so hasty and 
stern; 
Not ene of us all but is certainly needing 
Some friendly forbearance and grace in 
return. 

Unkindness and malice are weeds that 
grow thickly. 
But patieBce and lo%-e may transform 
them to flowers; 
Remember our journey is over too quickly 
To waste on ill-feeling a tithe of its 
hours. 

Forgive and forget! Let the bitter thought 
perish. 
Life does not lack sorrow more weighty, 
more real; 
And in the sharp sting of resentment, why 
cherish 
The thorn that must rankle where par- 
don might heal? 

Forgive and forget! For we know not how 
often 
'Twill spare us the pang of an endless 
regret. 
Don't wait for the future your anger to 
soften. 
Oh, now is the time to forgive and forget. 
S. E. Gordon. 



WORDS. 

■Words are things of little cost. 
Quickly spoken, quickly lost: 
We forget them, but they stand 
Witnesses at God's right hand. 
And their testimony bear 
For us, or against us, there. 

Oh, how words often ours have been 
Idle words, and words of sin: 
Words of anger, scorn, and pride. 
Or desire our faults to hide: 
Envious tales, or strife unkind. 
Leaving bitter thoughts behind. 

Grant us. Lord, from day to day. 
Strength to watch and grace to pray; 
May our lips, from sin set free. 
Love to speak and sing of thee, 
Till in heaven we learn to raise 
Hymns of everlasting praise. 



A HELPING HAND. 

If I should see a brother languishing in .~ore 

distress. 
And I should turn and leave him comfort- 
less. 
When I might be a messenger of hope and 
happiness. 
How could I ask to have what I denied. 
In my own hour of bitterness supplied? 

If I might sing a little song to cheer a 

fainting heart. 
And I should seal my lips and sit apart. 
When I might bring a bit of sunshine for 
life's ache and smart, , 

How could I hope to have my grief re- 
lieved 
If I kept silent when my brother grieved? 

And so I know that day is lost wherein 

I failed to lend 
A helping hand to some wayfaring friend; 
But if it show a burden lightened by the 
cheer I send, 
Then do I hold the golden hours well spent. 
And lay me down to sleep in sweet con- 
tent. 



WHAT IS GOOD? 

"Wihat is the real good?" 
I ask in musing mood. 

"Order." said the law court; 

"Knowledge," said the school; 
"Truth," said the wise man; 

"Pleasure," said the fool; 
"Love," said the maiden; 

"Beauty," said the page; 
"Freedom," said the dreamer; 

"Home," said the sage; 
"Fame," said the soldier; 

"Equity,"' the seer. 
Spake my heart full sadly: 

"The answer is not here." 

Then within my bosom 

Softly til is I heard: 
"Each heart holds the secret: 

"Kindness is the word.' " 

John Boylb O'Reillv. 



IT MATTERS MUCH! 

It matters 'ittle where I was born. 

Or if my parents were rich or poor; 
■^Tiether they shrank from the cold world"s 
scorn 
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure: 
But whether I live an honest man, 

And hold my integrity firm in my clutch, 
I tell you, my brother, as plain as I can, 
It matters much! 

It matters little how long I stay 

In a world of sorrow, sin, and care: 



194 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Whether in youth I am called away. 
Or live till my bones and pate are bare; 

But whether I do the best I can 

To soften the weight of adversity's touch 

On the faded cheek of my fellow man, 
It matters much! 

It matters little where be my grave, 

On the land or on the sea. 
By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave — 

It matters little or naught to me; 
But whether the Angel of Death comes down 

And marks my brow with his loving touch. 
As one that shall wear the victor's crown, 
It matters much! 



LEAF BY LEAF. 

Leaf by leaf the roses fall. 

Drop by drop the springs run dry. 
One by one beyond recall. 

Summer roses droop and die; 
Buit the roses bloom again. 

And the spring will gusli anew, 
In the pleasant April rain. 

And the summer sun and dew. 

So, In hours of deepest gloom, 

■Ulien the springs of gladness fail, 
And the roses in their bloom. 

Droop like maidens wan and pale. 
We shall find some hope that lies. 

Like a silent germ apart. 
Hidden far from careless eyes. 

In the garden of the heart — 

Some sweet hope to gladness wed. 

That will spring afresh and new, 
"W^ien grief's winter shall have fled, 

Oiving place to sun and dew; 
Some sweet hope that breathes of spring 

Through the weary, weary time. 
Budding for its blossoming. 

In the spirit's silent clime. 



SMALL BEGINNINGS. 

A traveler through a dusty road strewed 

acorns on the lea. 
And one took root and sprouted up, and 

grew into a tree. 
Love sought its shade, at evening time, to 

breathe its early vows; 
And age ws pleased, in heats of noon, to 

bask beneath its boughs; 
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the 

birds sweet music bore: 
It stood a glory in its place, a blessing 

evermore. 

A little spring had lost its way amid the 

grass and fern; 
A passing stranger scooped a well, where 

weary men might turn; 
He walled it in. and hung with care a 

ladle at the brink: 



He thought not of the deed he did, but 
judged that toil might drink. 

He passed again, and lo! the well, by sum- 
mers never dried. 

Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, 
and saved a life beside. 

A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas 

old, and yet 'twas new; 
A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in 

being true. 
It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! Its 

light became 
A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory 

flame. 
The thought was small; its issue great; a 

watchflre on the hill, 
It sheds its radiance far adown, and cheers 

the valley still! 

A nameless man, amid a' crowd that 
thronged tlie daily mart. 

Let fall a word of liope and love, unstud- 
ied, from the heart; 

A wliisper on the tumult thrown, a transi- 
torj' breath. 

It raised a brother from the dust; it saved 
a soul from death. 

O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought 
at random cast! 

Ye were but little at the first, but mighty 
at the last. 

Charles Mackay. 



THE KINDLY WORD. 

If you liave a word of clieer 
That may light a patliway clear. 
Of a brother pilgrim here. 
Let him know. 

Show him you appreciate 
WOiat he does, and do not wait 
Till the heavy hand of fate 
Lays him low. 

If your heart contains a thought 
That would brighter make his lot. 
Then, I beg you, hide it not; 
Tell him so. 

Life is hard enough at best. 
But the love that is expressed 
Makes it seem a pathway blest 
To our feet. 

And the troubles that we share 
Seem the easier to bear. 
Smile upon your neighbor's care 
As you greet. 

Rough and sttmy are the ways. 
Dark and dreary are our days. 
But another's love and praise 
Make tliem sweet. 

Wait not till your friend is dead 
Ere your compliments are said; 
For the spirit that has fled, 
If it know. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



195 



Does not need to speed it on 
Our poor praise; wtiere it has gone 
Love's eternal golden dawn 
Is aglow. 

But unto our brother here 
That poor praise is very dear; 
If you've any word of cheer, 
Tell him so. 



IF WE KNEW. 

Could we but draw baclt the curtains 

That surround each other's lives, 
See the nalted heart and spirit, 

Know what spur the action gives. 
Often we should find it better. 

Purer than we judge we should: 
We should love each other better. 

If wo only understood. 

Could we judge all deeds by motives. 

See the good and bad within, 
Often we should love the sinner. 

All the while we loathe the sin. 
CouJd we Icnow the powers working 

To o'erthrow integrity, 
VTe should judge each other's errors 

With more patient charity. 

If we Itnew the cares and trials. 

Knew the effort all in vain. 
And the bitter disappointment. 

Understood tlie loss and gain. 
Would the grim external roughness 

Seem, I wonder, just the same? 
Would we help where now we hinder? 

Would we pity where we blame? 

Ah! we judge each other harshly. 

Knowing not life's hidden force. 
Knowing not the fount of action 

Is less turbid at its source. 
Seeing not amid the evil 

AH the golden grains of good: 
Oh! we'd love each other better. 

If we only understood. 

RroTABD Kipling. 



SELECTION FROM ENDYMION. 

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: 

Its loveliness increases; it will never 

Pass into nothingness, but still will Iteep 

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 

I'ull of sweet dreams, and health, and qu.iet 

breathing. 
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreath- 
ing 
A flowery band to bind us to the earth, 
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days. 
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways 
Made for our searching; yes, in spite of all, 
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the 
moon. 



Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon 
For simple sheep; and such are daftodils 
With the green world they live in; and 

clear rills 
That for themselves a cooling covert make 
Against the hot season; the mid-forest 

brake. 
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose 

blooms: 
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms 
We have imagined for the mighty dead: 
AH lovely tales that we liave heard or read: 
And endless fountain of immortal drink. 
Pouring unto us the heaven's brink. 

Nor do we merely feel these essences 
For one short hour; no, even as the trees 
That whisper round a temple become soon 
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, 
The passion poesy, glories infinite. 
Haunt us till tliey become a cheering light 
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast. 
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'er- 

cast, 
They always must be with us, or we die. 

John Kbats. 



THE CHANGELING. 

1 Lowell's first child died in lier second year. The 
sorrowful loss was softened by the birth of a second 
daughter. ] 

I had a little daughter. 

And she was given to me 
To lead me gently backward 

To the heavenly Father's knee. 
That I, by the force of nature. 

Might in some dim wise divine 
The depth of his infinite patience 

To tliis wayward soul of mine. 

I know not how others saw lier. 

But to me slie was wholly fair. 
And the light of the lieaven she came from 

Still lingered and gleamed in lier hair; 
For it was as wavy and golden. 

And as many changes took. 
As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples 

On the yellow bed of a brook. 

To what can I liken her smiling 

Upon me, her kneeling lover. 
How it leaped from her lips to her eyelids, 

And dimpled her wholly over. 
Till her outstretched hands smiled also. 

And I almost seemed to see 
Tlie very heart of her mother 

Sending sun through her veins to me! 

She liad been with us scarce a twelve- 
month. 

And it hardly seemed a day. 
When a troop of wandering angels 

Stole my little daughter away: 
Or perhaps those heavenly Zingari 

But loosed the hampering strings, 
And when they had opened her cage door. 

My little bird used her wings. 



196 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



But they left in her stead a changeling, 

A little angel-child, 
That seems like her bud in full blossom. 

And smiles as she never smiled. 
When I wake in the morning, I see it 

Where she always used to lie, 
And I feel as weak as a violet 

Alone 'neath the awful sky. 

As weak, yet as trustful also; 

For the whole year long I see 
All the wonders of faithful Nature 

Still worked for tlie love of me; 
Winds wander, and dews drip earthward, 

Rain falls, suns rise and set. 
Earth whirls, and all but to prosper 

A poor little violet. 

This child is not mine as the first was; 

I can not sing it to rest, 
I can not lift it up fatherly 

And bless it upon my breast; 
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle 

And sits in my little one's chair. 
And the light of the heaven she's gone to 

Transfigures its golden hair. 

Jambs Russbli, Lowell. 



THE ARROW AND THE SONG. 

I shot an arrow into the air; 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air; 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong. 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 
Henry Wadswoeth Lonqfbllow. 



BETTER THINGS, 

Better to smell the violet cool than sip the 

glowing wine; 
Better to hark a hidden brook than watch 

a diamond shine. 

Better the love of a gentle heart than 

beauty's favor proud; 
Better the rose's living seed, than roses 

in a crowd. 

Better to love in loneliness than to bask 

in love all day; 
Better the fountain in the heart than the 

fountain by the way. 

Better be fed by a mother's hand than eat 

alone at will; 
Better to trust in God than say, "My 

goods my storehouse fill." 



Better to be a little wise than in knowl- 
edge to abound; 

Better to teach a child than toil to fill 
perfection's round. 

Better to sit at a master's feet than thrill 

a listening State; 
Better suspect that thou art proud than 

be sure that thou art great. 

Better to walk the real unseen than watch 

the hour's event; 
Better the "Well done" at the last tlian 

the air with shouting rent. 

Better to have a quiet grief than a hurry- 
ing delight; 

Better the twilight of the dawn than the 
noonday burning bright. 

Better a death when work is done than 

earth's most favored birth; 
Better a child in God's great house than 

the king of all the earth. 

Geoeoh McDonald. 



BEFORE THE SUN GOES DOWN. 

Let not the sun go down upon .vour wrath — Epb. 
4; 26. 

Has anger any place today 

In heart and mind? 
Has malice prompted you to say 

What was not kind? 
See how the sun is shining bright 

In heaven above; 
Oh, let him not go down tonight 

On aught but love! 
Have you been wronged in any way, 

And so are cross? 
Has some one injured you today, 

And caused you loss? 
The golden sun is sinking fast — 

'Twill soon be night! 
Forgive, and let your wrath be cast 

Far out of sight! 
Wlhat? some one else was in the wrong. 

And his the debt? 
Well, never mind; show you are strong, 

And can forget. 
Look you how quickly fades the light; 

It will not wait! 
Quick, ere the sun goes down tonight, 

And 'tis too late! 



BEAUTY IS NOT PURITY. 

As fragrance sweet perfumes the air, 
From flowers dull, from flowers fair, 
A thought arises in my mind. 
That I may here a lesson find: 
The flower clothed in colors bright 
May seem indeed a pretty sight; 
But when I search for fragrance rare, 
I seek in vain; it is not there. 

Far in a corner, hidden quite, 

A tiny bloom, not half so bright. 

Is sending forth its fragrance rare. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



197 



That, rising, sweetly scents the air. 
Though small, this blossom oft can cheer 
A troubled heart, when passing near. 
And in a quiet, simple way. 
Some silent grief can often stay. 

Just so with people of today; 

We can not judge by faces gay. 

A heart that's shaded black as night 

May have a face that's pretty, bright; 

But wait a moment, look within, 

A heart you'll see all stained with sin. 

No fragrance can this blighted one 

Impart to others; it hath none. 

But there's a face, so tender plain 
Above a heart that's never vain; 
There sweetest graces, rich and rare. 
Lend, daily, perfume to the air. 
Cheers pilgrims sad along the way. 
Entreats no gratitude as pay. 
Sweet emblem of the Christ below, 
The Lily of the long ago! 

Sweet flowerets sent from God above 

Teach others lessons of his love. 

Though crushed and bruised beneath our 

feet. 
Their perfume rises still more sweet; 
To passers-by tells silently 
The story of life's mystery; 
And though their life may soon be gone, 
Their fragrance sweet will linger on. 

ISABEI, C. BYRUM. 



OPPORTUNITY. 

Master of human destinies am I. 

Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps 

wait; 
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate 
Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by 
Hovel, and mart, and palace, soon or late 
I knock unbidden once at every gate! 
If sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise before 
I turn away. It is the hour of fate. 
And they who follow me reach every state 
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 
Save death; but those who doubt or hesi- 
tate. 
Condemned to failure, penury, and woe. 
Seek me in vain and u.selessly implore — 
I answer not, and I return no more. 

John J. Ingalls. 



THE LOST DAY. 

Lost! lost! lost! 

A gem of countless price. 
Cut from the living rock. 

And graved in Paradise; 
Set round with three times eight 

Large diamonds, clear and bright. 
And each with sixty smaller ones, 

All changeful as the light. 

Lost — where the thoughtless throng 
In Fashion's mazes wind. 



Where trilleth Folly's song, 

Leaving a sting behind. 
Yet to my hand 'twas given, 

A golden harp to buy. 
Such as the white-robed choir attune 

To deathless minstrelsy. 

Lost! lost! lost! 

I feel all search is vain; 
That gem of countless cost 

Can ne'er be mine again. 
I offer no reward; 

For till these heart-strings sever, 
I know that Heaven's entrusted gift 

Is reft away forever. 

But when the sea and land. 

Like burning scroll have fled, 
I'll see it in His hand 

Who judgeth quick and dead; 
And when of scathe and loss 

That man can ne'er repair, 
The dread inquiry meets my soul, 

What shall it answer there? 

L. H. SiaoimNBt. 



ONE BY ONE. 

One by one the sands are flowing. 
One by one the moments fall; 

Some are coming, some are going; 
Do not strive to grasp them all. 

One by one thy duties wait thee; 

Let thy whole strength go to each, 
Let no future dreams elate thee. 

Learn thou first what these can teach. 

One by one (bright gifts from heaven) 
Joys are sent thee here below; 

Take them readily when given, 
Ready, too, to let them go. 

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, 

Do not fear an armed band; 
One will fade as others greet thee. 

Shadows passing through the land. 

Do not look at life's long sorrow. 
See how small each moment's pain; 

God will help thee for tomorrw. 
So each day begin again. 

Every hour that fleets so slowly 

Has its task to do or bear; 
Luminous the crown, and holy, 

If thou set each gem with care. 

Do not linger with regretting. 
Or for passing hours despond; 

Nor, the daily toil forgetting. 
Look too eagerly beyond. 

Hours are golden links, God's token, 
Reaching heaven; but one by one 

Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done. 

AdklaidH a. Pi:nrTEE. 



198 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



UNWRITTEN POEMS. 

There are poems unwritten and songs un- 
sung 

Sweeter than any that ever were heard; 
Poems that will wait for an angel-tongue, 

Songs that long for a paradise bird; 

Poems that rippled through lowliest lives, 
Poems unnoted, and hidden away 

Down in souls where the beautiful thrives 
Sweetly as flowers in the airs of May; 

Poems that only the angels above us, 
Looking down deep in our hearts may be- 
hold; 
Felt, though unseen by the beings who love 
us; 
Written on lives all in letters of gold. 



INFLUENCE. 

I dropped a pebble in the stream, 
It sank forever from my sight; 

A moment in the sun's warm beam 
A diamond sparkled pure and bright. 
Reflecting far its radiant light; 

A circle, small indeed at first, 

Widened, e'en midst the tempest's roar. 

Until at last it faintly burst 

And vanished on the farther shore. 

A frown, a scowl, an angry glance, 

A hasty or unguarded word, 
A formal bow, a look askance — 

These, quicker than a swift-winged bird. 

Pierce to the heart like two-edged sword; 
Spreading a baleful influence wide. 

They cast a murksome shade and gloom 
Across life's rough and troubled tide. 

And reach unto the silent tomb. 

A word, a look of sympathy, 

A penny generously bestowed, 
A simple act of courtesy, 

A kindly influence shed abroad. 

And from the soul lift many a load. 
These angel-deeds, grand and sublime. 

Like ripples on the restless sea. 
Sweep o'er the fretful stream of time 

And reach into eternity. 

M. .M. DeI-evis. 



TRUTH AND FREEDOM. 

On the page that is immortal. 

We the brilliant promise see: 
"Te shall know the truth, my people. 

And its might shall make you free!" 

For the truth, then, let us battle. 

Whatsoever fate betide; 
Long the boast that we are freesnen, 

We have made and published wide. 

He who has the truth, and keep.s it, 
Ke«ps what not to him belongs. 



But performs a selfish action. 
That his fellow mortal wrongs. 

He who seeks the truth, and trembles 
At the dangers he must brave, 

Is not fit to be a freeman — 
He at best is but a slave. 

He who hears the truth, and places 
Its high promptings under ban, 

Loud may boast of all tliat's manly, 
But can never be a man! 

Friend, this simple lay who readest. 
Be not thou like either them. 

But to truth give utmost freedom. 
And the tide It raises stem. 

Bold in speech and bold in action 

Be forever! Time will test. 
Of the free-souled and the slavish. 

Which fulfils life's mission best. 

Be thou like the noble ancient^ — 

Scorn the threat that bids thee fear: 

Speak! — no matter what betide thee: 
Let them strike, but make them hear! 

Be thou like the first apostles. 

Be thou like heroic Paul; 
If a free thought seek expression. 

Speak it boldly — speak it all! 

Face thine enemies — accusers; 

Scorn the prison, rack, or rod; 
And if thou hast truth to utter. 

Speak, and leave the rest to God! 

William D. Gallagher. 



AS A BEAM O ER THE FACE OF THE 
WATERS. 

As a beam o'er tlie face of the waters may 
glow 

While t!ic tide runs in darkness and cold- 
ness below. 

So the cheek may be tinged with a warm 
sunny smile. 

Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly 
the while. 

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that 

tlirows 
Its bleak sliade alike o'er our joys and our 

woes, 
To whicli life notliing darker or brighter 

can bring. 
For which joy has no balm and affliction 

no sting — 

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment 
will stay. 

Like a dead, leafless branch in the sum- 
mer's bright ray; 

The beams of the warm sun play round it 
in vain; 

It may smile in his liglit, but it blooms not 
again. 

Thomas Moobe. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



199 



THE TWO PENNIES. 

From the mint two bright new pennies 

came, 
The value and beauty of both the same: 
One slipped from the hand, and fell to the 

ground. 
Then rolled out of sight and could not be 

found; 
The other was passed by many a hand. 
Through many a change in many a land — 
For temple dues paid, now used in the 

mart. 
Now bestowed on the poor by a pitying 

heart. 

At length it so happened, as years went 

round 
That the long-lost, unused coin was found. 
Filthy and black, its inscription destroyed 
Through rusting peacefully unemployed; 
Whilst the well-worked coin was bright 

and clear 
Through active service year after year; 
For the brightest are those who live for 

duty — 
Rust more than rubbing will tarnish beauty. 



FORGIVENESS. 

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been 
Abused, its kindness answered with foul 

wrong; 
So, turnintT gloomily from my fellow men. 
One summer Sabbath-day I strolled among 
The green mounds of the village burial- 
place, 
Where, pondering how all human love and 

hate 
Find one sad level, and liow, soon or late, 
Wronged and wrong-doer, each with meek- 

ened face. 
And cold hands folded over a still heart. 
Pass the green threshold of our common 

grave, 
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none 

depart. 
Awed for myself, and pitying my race. 
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave. 
Swept all my pride away, and, trembling. 

I forgave! 

JOHX Gbeenleaf Whittier. 



SOMEHOW OR OTHER. 

Life has a burden for every mans shoulder. 
None may escape from its trouble and 
care; 
Miss it in youth and 'twill come when 
we're older. 
And fit ua as close as the garments we 
wear. 

Sorrow comes into our lives uninvited. 
Robbing our hearts of their treasures of 
song; 
Lovers grow cold, and friendships are 
slighted. 
Yet somehow or other we worry along. 



Every-day toil is an every-day blessing, 
Though poverty's cottage and crust we 
may share; 
Weak is the back on which burdens are 
pressing. 
But stout is the heart that is strength- 
ened by prayer. 

Somehow or other the pathway t-rows 
brighter 
Just when we mourn there were none to 
befriend; 
Hope in the heart makes the burdens seem 
lighter. 
And somehow or other we get to the end. 



OPPORTUNITY. 

They do me wrong who .say I come no more 
When once I knock and fail to find you in; 

For every day I stand outside your door. 
And bid you wake, and rise to fight and 
win. 

Wail not for precious chances passed away, 
Weep not for golden ages on the wane; 

Each night I burn the records of the day, 
At sunrise every soul is born again. 

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have 
sped. 
To vanished joys be blind and deaf and 
dumb; 
My judgments seal the dead past with its 
dead, 
But never bind a moment yet to come. 

Though deep in mire, wring not your hands 

and weep; 

I lend my arm to all who say, "I can." 

No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep 

But he might rise and be again a man. 

W.4LTEB Malone. 



THE POET S SONG. 

The rain had fallen, the poet arose. 

He passed by the town and out of the 
street, 
A light wind blew from the gates of the 
sun. 

And waves of shadow went over the wheat. 
And he sat him down in a lonely place, 

And chanted a melody loud and sweet. 
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, 

And the lark drop down at his feet. 

The swallow stopped as he hunted the bee. 

The snake slipped under a spray. 
The wild hawk stood with the down on his 
beak. 
And stared, with his foot on the prey, 
And the nightingale thought, "I have sung 
many songs. 
But never a one so gay, 
F.>r he sings of what the world will be 
\Mien the years have died away. ' 

Alfreh TenntsoM, 



200 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



SCOTCH SONGS. 

There are tears o' pity, an' tears o' wae, 

An' tears for excess o' joy will fa'; 

Yet the tears o' luve are sweeter than a'! 

There are sighs o' pity, an' sighs o' wae. 
An' sighs o' regret frae the saul will gae; 
Yet the sighs o' luve are sweeter than a'! 

There's the look o' pity, the look o' wae, 
The look o' frien', an' the look o' fae; 
Yet the look o' luve is sweeter than a'! 

There's the smile o' friends when they 

come frae far. 
There's the smile o' joy in the festive ha'; 
Yet the smile o' luve is sweeter than a'! 
Alfred Tennyson. 



WHEN I HAVE TIME. 

When I have time, so many things I'll do 

To make life happier and more fair 

For those whose lives are crowded now 

with care: 
I'll help to lift them from their low de- 
spair — 

When I have time! 

Wlien I have time, the friend I love so well 
Shall know no more these weary, toiling 

days: 
I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always. 
And cheer her heart with words of sweet- 
est praise — 

When I have time! 

When you have time, the friend you hold 

so dear 
May be beyond the reach of all your sweet 

intent, 
May never know that you so kindly meant 
To fill her life with gentle, sweet content — 
When you had time! 

Now is the time! Ah! friend, no longer wait 
To scatter loving smiles and words of cheer 
To those around, whose lives are now so 

dear; 
They may not need you in the coming year — 
Now is the time. 



TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE. 

By thine own soul's law learn to live. 

And if men thwart thee take no heed. 
And if men hate thee have no care: 

Sing thou thy song and do thy deed, 
Hope thou thy hope and pray thy prayer, 

And claim no crown they will not give, 
Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair. 

Keep thou thy soul- worn steadfast oath. 
And to thy heart be true — thy heart; 

What thy soul teaches learn to know. 
And play out thine appointed part. 



And thou shalt reap as thou slialt sow. 

Nor helped nor hindered in thy growth, 
To thy full stature thou shalt grow. 

Fix on the future's goal thy face. 
And let thy feet be lured to stray 

Nowhither, but be swift to run. 
And nowhere tarry by the way, 

Until at last the end is won 

And thou mayst look back from thy place 

And see thy long day's journey done. 

Pakbnham Beattx. 



DARE AND DO. 

Dare to think, though others frown; 

Dare in words your thoughts express; 
Dare to rise, though oft cast down; 

Dare the wronged and scorned to bless. 

Dare from custom to depart; 

Dare the priceless pearl possess; 
Dare to wear it next your heart; 

Dare, when others curse, to bless. 

Dare forsake what you deem wrong; 

Dare to walk in wisdom's way; 
Dare to give where gifts belong; 

Dare God's precepts to obey. 

Do what conscience says is right; 

Do what reason says is best; 
Do with all your mind and might; 

Do your duty, and be blest. 



THE TONE OF THE VOICE. 

It is not so much what you say 
As the manner in which you say it; 

It is not so much the language you use 
As the tones in which you convey it. 

"Come here!" I sharply said, 

And the baby cowered and wept; 

"Come here!" I cooed, and he looked and 
smiled. 
And straight to my lap ho crept. 

The words may be mild and fair. 

And the tones may pierce like a dart; 

The words may be soft as the suanmer air. 
And the tones may break the heart: 

For words but come from the mind, 

And grow by study and art; 
But the tones leap forth from the inner 
self. 

And reveal the state of heart. 

Whether you know it or not, 

Whether you mean or care. 
Gentleness, kindness, love, and hate, 

Envy and anger are there. 

Tlien would you quarrels avoid. 
And in peace and love rejoice. 

Keep anger not only out of your words, 
But keep it out of your voice. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



201 



THE ICEBERG. 

An iceberg drifting in the polar seas 
Braces its cold and bold and glistening front 
Against the sharpness of the Arctic blasts; 
But when it idly floats by southern shores, 
^^'here mild sunshine wakes the praise of 

Spring, 
■Warm airs embrace the rugged stranger 

round, 
And melt away its angles with their breath; 
The tepid waves caress it, and the light 
Nestles among its many crevices. 
Till it relents, and in a veil of mist 
Withdrawing, sinks, and weeps itself away 
Upon the bosom of the summer sea. 
And so, when argument, reproach, and force 
Are spent in vain, the hard heart yields to 

love. 



LITTLE KINDNESSES. 

Tou gave on the way a pleasant smile 

And thought no more about it; 
It cheered a life that was sad the while 
That might have been wrecked without it; 
And so for the smile and its fruitage 

fair 
You'll reap a crown sometime, some- 
where. 

You spoke one day a cheering word, 

And passed to other duties; 
It warmed a heart, new promise stirred, 
And painted a life with beauties; 

And so for the word and its silent 

prayer 
You'll reap a palm sometime, some- 
where- 

You lent a hand to a fallen one, 

A lift in kindness given; 
It saved a soul when help was none. 
And won a heart for heaven; 

And so for the help you proffered there 
You'll reap a joy sometime, somewhere. 



ON THE PICTURE OF A 
TIRED OF PLAY." 



CHILD 



Tired of play! Tired of play! 
Wliat hast thou done this livelong day! 
The birds are silent, and so is the bee; 
The sun is creeping up steeple and tree; 
The doves have flown to the sheltering 

eaves. 
And the nests are dark with the drooping 

leaves; 
Twilight gathers, and day is done — 
How hast thou spent it restless one! 

Playing? But what hast thou done beside 
To tell thy mother at eventide? 
What promise of morn is left unbroken? 
What kind word to thy playmate spoken? 
Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven? 
How with thy faults has duty striven? 



What hast thou learned by field and hill, 
By greenwood path, and by singing rill? 

There will come an eve to a longer day. 
That will tind thee tired — but not of play! 
And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now, 
With drooping limbs and aching brow. 
And wish the shadows would faster creep. 
And long to go to thy quiet sleep. 
Well were it then if thine aching brow 
Were as free from sin and shame as now! 
Well for thee if thy lip could tell 
A tale like this, of a day spent well! 
If thine open hand hath relieved distress; 
If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness; 
If thou hast forgiven the sore offense, 
And humbled thy heart with penitence; 
If Nature's voices have spoken with thee 
With her holy meanings eloquently; 
If every creature hatii won thy love. 
From the creeping worm to the brooding 

dove; 
If never a sad, low-spoken word 
Hath plead with thy human heart un- 
heard, — 
Then, when the night steals on, as now, 
It will bring relief to thine aching brow; 
And, with joy and peace at the thought of 

rest. 
Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's 
breast. 

Nathaniel Pakkeb Willis. 



OLD YEAR MEMORIES. 

Let us forget tlie things that vexed and 
tried us, 
The worrying things that caused our 
souls to fret; 
The hopes that, cherished long, were still 
denied us. 
Let us forget. 

Let us forget the little slights that pained 
us. 
The greater wrongs that rankle some- 
times yet; 
The pride with which some lofty one dis- 
dained us. 
Let us forget. 

Let us forget our brother's fault and failing. 
The yielding to temptations that beset. 
That the perchance, though grief be una- 
vailing. 
Can not forget. 

But blessings manifold, past all deserving; 
Kind words and thoughtful deeds, a 
countless throng; 
The faults o'ercome, the rectitude un- 
swerving, 
Let us remember long. 

The sacrifice of love, the generous giving 
When friends were few, the handclasp 
warm and strong, 
The fragrance of each life of holy living, 
Let us remember long. 



202 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Whatever things were good and true and 
gracious, 
Wliate'er of riglit has triumphed over 
wrong, 
Wliat love of God or man has rendered pre- 
cious. 
Let us remember long. 

So, pondering well the lessons it has taught 
us, 
We tenderly may bid the year good-by, 
Holding in memory the good it brought us, 
Letting the evil die- 

Susan E. Gammons. 



THE WANDERER. 

Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, 

I found a shell. 
And to my listening ear the lonely thing 
Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, 

Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. 

How came the shell upon that mountain 
height? 
Ah, who can say 
Whether there dropped by some too care- 
less hand. 
Or whether there cast when ocean swept 
the land. 
Ere the Eternal had ordained the day? 

Strange, was it not? Far from its native 
deep. 

One song it sang — 
Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, 
Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide; 

Ever with echoes of the ocean rang. 

And as the shell upon the mountain height 

Sings of the sea. 
So do I ever, leagues and leagues away — 
So do I ever, wandering where I may. 

Sing. O my homel sing, O my home! of 
thee. 



IF WE KNEW. 

If we knew when walking thoughtless 

Through the crowded, noisy way, 
That some pearl of wondrous whiteness 

Close beside our pathway lay. 
We would pause when now we hasten. 

We would often look around. 
Lest our careless feet should trample 

Some rare jewel in the ground. 

If we knew what forms were fainting 

For the shade that we should fling. 
If we knew what lips were parching 

For the water we should bring 
We would haste with eager footsteps. 

We would work with willing hands. 
Bearing cups of cooling water, 

Planting rows of shading palms. 

If we knew when friends around us 
Closely press to say, "Good-by," 



Which among the lips that kiss us, 
First should 'neath the daisies lie, 

We would clasp our arms around them. 
Looking on them through our tears; 

Tender words of love eternal 
We would whisper in their ears. 

If we knew what lives were darkened 

By some thoughtless word of ours. 
Which has ever lain among them 

Like the frost among the flowers. 
Oh! with what sincere repentings, 

With what anguish of regret. 
While our eyes were overflowing. 

Would we cry, "Forgive! Forget!" 

If we knew — alas! and do we 

Ever care or seek to know, 
Wliether bitter herbs or roses 

In our neighbor's gardens grow? 
God forgive us! lest hereafter 

Our hearts break to hear him say, 
"Careless child, I never knew you.; 

From my presence flee away." 



FIGHT FRESH BATTLES. 

Is it too late? Ah, nothin.g's too late 
Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. 
Cato learned Greek at eighty: Sophocles 
W^rote his grand "Oedipus," and Simonides 
Bore off the prize of verse from his com- 
peers. 
When each had numbered more than four- 
score years; 
And Theophrastus at fourscore and ten 
Had but begun his "Characters of Men"; 
Chaucer at Woodstock, with the Nightin- 
gales, 
At sixty wrote the "Canterbury Tales"; 
Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, 
Completed "Faust" when eighty years were 
past. 

Wliat then? Shall we sit idly down and say, 
"The night hath come; it is no longer day"? 
The night hath not yet come; we are not 

quite 
Cut oft from labor by the failing light; 
Something remains for us to do or dare. 
Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear; 
For age is opportunity no less 
Than youth itself, though in another dress; 
And as the evening twilight fades away, 
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by 

day. 



A HOMELY COUNSEL ON CARE. 

Do not trouible trouble 

Till trouble troubles you. 
Do not look for trouble; 

Let trouble look for you. 
Do not borrow sorrow; 

You'll surely have your share. 
He who dreams of sorrow 

Will find that sorrow's there. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



203 



Do not hurry worry 

By worrying: lest it come. 
To flurry is to worry; 

'Twill miss you it you're mum. 
If care you've got to carry. 

Wait till it's at the door; 
For he who runs to meet it 

Takes up the load before. 

If mindingr will not mend it, 
Then better not to mind; 

The best thing is to end it- 
Just leave it all behind. 

■Wlio feareth hath forsaken 
The heavenly Father's side; 

What He hath undertaken 
He surely will provide. 

The very birds reprove thee. 

With all their happy song; 
The very flowers teach thee. 

That fretting- is a wrong. 
"Cheer up!" the sparrow chirpeth; 

"Thy Father feedeth me; 
Think how much more he careth, 

O lonely child, for thee!" 

"Fear not," the flowers whisper; 

"Since thus lie hath arrayed 
The buttercups and daisy, 

How canst thou be afraid?" 
Then do not trouble trouble 

Till trouble troubles you; 
Tou'll only trouble trouble, 

And trouble others, too. 

Mark GUI PEiKSE. 



HOW EASY IT is! 

How easy it is to spoil a day! 

The thoughtless words of cherished 
friends. 
The selfish act of a child at play, 

The strength of will that will not bend. 
The slight of a comrade, the scorn of a foe. 

The smile that is full of bitter things — 
They all can tarnish its golden glow 

And take the grace from its airy wings. 

By the force of a thought we did not check 
Little by little we mold the clay. 

And little flaws may the vessel wreck. 
The careless waste of a white-winged 
hour. 

That held the blessing v/e long had sought. 
The sudden loss of wealth or power — • 

And lo, the day is with ill inwrought. 

How easy it is to spoil a life — 

And many are spoiled ere well begun — 
In some life darkened by sin and strife, 

Or downward course of a cherished one. 
By toil that robs the form of its grace 

And undermines till health gives way; 
By the peevish temper, the frowning face. 

The hopes that go and cares that stay. 

A day is too long to be spent in vain; 
Some good should come as the hours go by. 



Some tangled maze may be made more plain 
Some lowered glance may be raised on 
high. 

And life is too short to spoil like this; 
If only a prelude, it may be sweet; 

Let us bind together its thread of bliss 
And nourish the flowers around our feet 



BENEATH THE SURFACE. 

The things of greatest value 

Are often hid from view. 
The gold M'hich is so costly 

Is found but by the few 
Wlio dig and seek the treasure 

With unremitting toil: 
'Tis so with all that's precious 

Contained within the soil. 

And often others' virtues 

Are not by one glance seen; 
Sometimes a roughened surface 

Conceals a soul's bright gleam. 
Then, pass not by witli liglitness 

The one you can't "see through" 
Perhaps if you look closely, 

A lesson he'll teach to you. 

The ways of God are hidden 

Ofttimes from mortal view; 
Sometimes there seems no kindness 

In the way lie's dealt with you. 
A burden sore may press you; 

You know not why 'tis giv'n, 
But trust thou in the Father 

Till the low'ring cloud is riv'n. 

Look, tlien, beneath tlie surface 

For tilings of greatest worth, 
Be it virtues in your brother 

Or treasures of the earth; 
And most of all, God's purpose 

To you, his trusting one. 
For oft we see a. shadow 

'OTien just behind's the suii. 

Nettie L. Bebghoitsb. 



INDIRECTION. 

Fair are the flowers and the children, but 

their subtle suggestion is fairer; 
Rare is the roseburst of dawn, but the 

secret that clasps it is rarer; 
Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain 

that precedes it is sweeter. 
And never was poem yet writ but the 

meaning outmastered the meter. 

Never a daisy that grows but a mystery 
guideth the growing; 

Never a river that flows but a majesty 
scepters the flowing; 

Never a Shakespeare that soared but a 
stronger than he did enfold him; 

Nor ever a prophet fortells but a might- 
ier seer hath foretold him. 



204 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Back of the canvas that throbs the painter 

is hinted and hidden; 
Into the statue that breathes the soul of 

the sculptor is hidden; 
Under the joy that is felt lie the infinite 

issues of feeling"; 
Crowning the glory revealed is the glory 

that crowns the revealing. 

Great are the symbols of being, but that 

which is symboled is greater; 
Vast the create and beheld, but vaster tlie 

inward creator; 
Back of the sound broods the silence; back 

of the gift stands the giving; 
Back of the hand that receives thrill the 

sensitive nerves of receiving. 

Space is as nothing to spirit; the deed is 

outdone by the doing; 
The heart of the wooer is warm, but 

warmer the heart of the wooing; 
And up from the pits where these shiver, 

and up from the heights where those 

shine, 
Twin voices and shadows swim starward, 

and the essence of life is divine. 

BlCHARO Realp. 



THE FOUR WISHES. 

Charles: 
I ask for power, that 'neath my sway 
Nations might tremble and obey: 
Over the sea to stretch my hand. 
And sway my scepter o'er the land; 
That the proudest monarch should lay down, 
At will of mine, his jeweled crown; 
That rich and poor should bend the knee 
And pay due homage unto me; 
That the sun's eye should never shine 
On kingdoms that I called not mine: 
Thus, seated on my lofty throne, 
The whole wide world my sway should own. 

Mother: 
Thirst not for power! for, rightly used, 
'Twill make some foes; but, if abused. 
Nations will rise and curses shed — 
Long, loud, deep curses — on thy head! 
Thirst not for power! thy life will be 
A life of splendid misery. 
And thou wilt be the slave of all. 
Though at thy feet the world should fall. 
Thirst not for power! for, though today 
Nations thy slightest will obey. 
Perchance tomorrow thou'lt lay down, 
Before the king of death, thy crown! 

Albert: 
I ask for riches — ^wealth untold: 
For coffers filled with glittering gold; 
For pearls which in the ocean shine 
As gems that sparkle in the mine; 
Upon the treasures of each zone 
I'd lay my hands and call my own: 
I would each star that decks the sky 
A diamond at my feet might lie; 



Tliat every leaf on every tree 
Would fall in precious stones for me: 
Yes, wealth into my coffers pour 
Till mortal would not wish for more. 

Mother: 
Oh, ask not gold! 'twill melt away 
Like dew-drops in the early day. 
Oh, ask not gold! for it will fling 
A fetter o'er the spirit's wing. 
And bind it when it fain would rise 
To seek true riches in the skies. 
Oh, ask not gold! for it will prove 
A snare, and cause thy feet to rove 
Far from the straight and narrow way 
Which leads to realms of endless day! 

Mary: 
I ask for beauty — for an eye 
Bright as the stars in yonder sky; 
For tresses on the air to fling 
And put to shame the raven's wing; 
Cheeks where the lily and the rose 
Are blended in a sweet repose; 
For pearly teeth, and coral lip. 
Tempting the honey-bee to sip; 
And for a fairy foot as light 
As is the young gazelle's in flight; 
And then a small, white, tapering hand: 
I'd reign a beauty in the land. 

Mother: 
Sigh not for beauty! like the flower. 
That opes its petals for an hour 
And droops beneath the noontide ray, 
So will thy beauty fade away. 
The brightest eye at last must close. 
And on the cheek where blooms the rose 
Tlie hand of death will set his seal; 
O'er it the canker-worm will steal; 
Those tresses, rich and glossy now. 
Clustering around the snowy brow, 
Will turn to dust; yes, beauty's bloom 
Must wither in the silent tomb. 

Eliza: 
I ask the poet's gift — the lyre. 
With skilful hand to sweep each wire: 
I'd pour my burning thoughts in song, 
In lays deep, passionate, and strong, 
Till hearts should thrill at every word 
As mine is thrilled at song of bird. 
Oh! I would die and leave some trace 
That earth has been my dwelling-place; 
Would live in hearts forevermore, 
When my frail, fitful life is o'er. 
Oh, for the gifted poet's power! 
This is my wish; be this my dower! 

Mother: 
A glorious gift! yet it will be 
A source of sorrow unto thee. 
In this cold, selfish world of ours, 
Wliere piercing thorns grow mid the flowers: 
'Twill fill that gentle breast of thine 
With thirst for something too divine; 
And, like a young, caged bird, whose eye 
Looks out upon the free blue sky. 
Thy spirit's wing will long to soar 
To seek some far-off, peaceful shore. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



205 



It may not be a happy lot; 
Then, gentle maiden, ask it not. 

All: 
What shall we ask? If power will shed 
So many curses on the head; 
And if the gift of wealth will fling 
A fetter o'er the spirit's wing; 
If beauty blooms but for a day, 
Then, like the spring-flower, fades away; 
And if the poet's thrilling lyre 
^^11 waken such a restless flre 
Within the soul, and make it pine 
With thirst for something too divine, — 
What shall we ask — fain would we know — 
To make us happy here below? 

Mother: 
Oh! ask for things of nobler worth 
Than the poor cankering gifts of earth: 
Ask for the treasures of the mind, 
A heart all generous, true, and kind; 
Ask virtue a green wreath to twine. 
To deck these young, fair brows of thine — 
A wreath of fadeless buds and flowers, 
Destined to bloom in heaven's own bowers: 
Ask grace divine; for it will be 
Worth beauty, fame, and power, to thee; 
And, when this fleeting life is o'er, 
'Twill give thee life forevermore. 

MiSa A. CCTTER. 



FOUR-LEAF CLOVERS. 

I know a place where the sun is like gold, 
And the cherry-blooms burst forth with 
snow: 

And down underneath is the loveliest nook, 
"WTiere the four-leaf clovers grow. 

One leaf is for hope, — and one is lor faith. 
And one is for love, you know; 

And God put another one in for luck: 
If you search you will find where they 
grow. 

But you must have hope, and you must 
have faith, 
Tou must love and be strong; and so, 
If you work, if you wait, you will find the 
place 
"Where the four-leaf clovers grow. 



SINGING BIRDS FLY LOWEST. 

The eagle builds his aerie 

Far up the mountain height. 
And the birds of prey sail proudly 

In u,pper realms of light; 
But the singing birds fly lowest, 

Amid the groves and flowers, 
Their gentler lives and voices 

In fellowship with ours. 

Ambition rises upward. 
Impelled by strong desire; 



And men of eagle spirit. 
To azure heights aspire; 

But the singing souls fly lowest 
Above the moor and fen. 

In joyous, songful service 
To all the souls of men. 

We praise the eagle's powers; 

We watch the falcon's flight. 
And picture beak and talons 

On our escutcheons bright: 
But God to humbler creatures 

Gives his unchallenged choice; 
For the singing birds fly lowest. 

With better wing and voice. 

O soul! repining, restless. 

Impatient with thy lot. 
Look up, and read the lesson. 

Too oft by men forgot; 
For the singing birds fly lowest. 

And the noblest sons of men 
Are not on the dizzy mountain. 

But down in the moor and fen. 



THE WORDS I DID NOT SAY. 

Many a word my tongue has uttered 

Has brought me sorrow at eventide. 
And I have grieved with a grieving bitter 

Over speech of anger and scorn and pride: 
But never a word in my heart remembered 

As I sit with myself at the close of day 
Has pierced with repentance more unavail- 
ing 

Than have the words I did not say. 

The word of cheer that I might have whis- 
pered 

To a heart that was breaking with 
weight of woe. 
The word of hope that I might have given 

To one whose courage was ebbing low. 
The word of warning I should have spoken 

In the ear of one who walked astray — 
Oh, how they come with sad rebuking, 

Those helpful words that I did not say! 

So many and sweet — if I had but said them, 

How glad my heart then would have been! 
What a dew of blessing would fall upon it 

As the day's remembrances gather in! 
But I said them not, and the chance forever 

Is gone with the moments of yesterday. 
And I sit alone with a spirit burdened 

By all the words that I did not say. 

The morrow will come with its new begin- 
ning. 
Glad and grand, through the morning's 
gates; 
Shall I not then with this thought beside 
me 
Go bravely forth to the work that waits. 
Giving a message of cheer and kindness 

To all I meet on the world's highway. 
So that I never will grieve at twilight 
Over the words that I did not say? 



206 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



BE SWIFT. 

Be swift, dear heart, in loving; 

For time is brief. 
And tliou mayst along: life's highway 

Keep step with grief. 

Be swift, dear heart, in saying 

The kindly word; 
When ears are sealed, thy passionate plead- 
ing 

Will not be heard. 

Be swift, dear heart, in doing 

The gracious deed. 
Lest soon they wliom tliou boldest dearest 

Be past the need. 

Dear heart, be swift in loving; 

Time speedeth on. 
And all thy chance of blessed service 

Will soon be gone. 



WHITHER? 

Are you living with a purpose? is it right? 
Have you plans for all your future, day 
and night? 
Are your methods straight and square? 
Are your motives pure and fair? 
Are you throwing life away? 
Are you wearing false array? 
Are you satisfied or not. 
With your lot? 
Stop and think! 

There are many lives just drifting from 

the shore. 
Caring little where they go or what explore; 
Lives that seem aglow with force, 
Wavering in uncertain course. 
Floating with the fickle tide. 
Out on wild old ocean wide; 
Sails of paper, ropes of sand. 
Far from land — 
Will they think? 

There are other lives pursuing fame and 

gold. 
Power's scepter madly seeking, young and 
old; 
They are ru,shlng blindly on. 
Some e.xcited. others wan. 
As the bubble shines and glows. 
Will they grasp it? ah! who knows? 
WJiat a selfish, worthless plan 
Is life's plan 
As they think! 

Still another class of painted butterflies 
Fluttering idly in life's gentle summer skies. 
Sipping only honeyed food, 
Not a care does life include — 
Pleasure seeking, transient bliss. 
Life to them a rose's kiss: 
Ah! it's pity they must need 
For indeed. 
They don't think. 



Oh, to sail toward that harbor, calm and 

deep, 
'U'^ere my soul witli nobler things its tryst 
would keep. 
Where the storms of life are spent. 
Where the sunshine of content, 
Smiling on the rippling sea 
Is reflected back to me! 
There's no other course than this 
Leads to bliss — 
Thus I think. 



ONLY A LITTLE WHILE. 

'Tis only such a narrow line 

'Twixt this world and the other. 
That almost every day we miss 

A sister or a brother. 
Our friends that greet us in the morn 

Scarce walk with us till noon: 
Their words of tender love are huslied 

To silence by the tomb. 

We long to see their faces again. 

But still we seek in vain; 
Their footsteps that kept pace with ours. 

We'll never hear again. 
They came and went like flowers of spring; 

They vanished like the dew; 
And as they left our side we said, 

"Soon we shall follow you." 

Our life is short — a little day, 

A slender cord to sever. 
And we shall leave this stage of time 

To join the great forever: 
No loving word or kindly deed 

Can go beyond the giver; 
Affection's ofE'ring'3 then can reach 

No farther than the river. 

'Tis such a very little while 

We have to love each other; 
To smooth tlie way for weary feet, 

Or lift a fallen brother. 
Then, let us every moment seek 

To cheer the broken-hearted; 
Bestow on all our deeds of love 

Before they have departed. 

W. J. Henry. 



ENDURANCE. 

How much the heart may bear and yet not 
break! 
How much the flesh may suffer and not 
die! 
I question much if any pain or ache 

Of soul or body brings our end more nigh. 
Death chooses his own time: till that is 

worn 
All evils may be borne. 

We shrink and shudder at the surgeon's 
knife, 
Each nerve recoiling from the cruel steel. 

Whose edge seems searching for the quiv- 
ering life: 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



■207 



Tet to our senses the bitter pangs reveal 
That still, althoiiffh the trembling flesh be 

torn, 
This, also, can be borne. 

We see a sorrow rising in our way 

And try to flee from the approaching ill; 

We seek some small escape, we weep and 

pray ; 
But when the blow falls, then our hearts 

are still, 
Not that the pain is of its sharpness shorn, 
But that it can be borne. 

We wind our life about another life — 

We hold it closer, dearer than our own — 
Anon it faints and falls in deadly strife. 
Leaving us stunned and stricken and 
alone; 
But, ah! we do not die with those we 

mourn — 
This, also, can be borne. 

Behold, we I've through all things — fam- 
ine, thirst, 
Bereavement, pain, all grief and misery. 
All woe and sorrow: life inflicts its worst 

On soul and body; but we can not die, 
Though we be sick and tired, and faint and 

worn: 
Lo! all things can be borne. 

Elizabeth Akebs Allen. 



FINDING FAULT. 

In speaking of a person's faults. 

Pray don't foreet your own; 
Remember those with homes of glass 

Should seldom throw a stone. 
If we have nothing else to do 

Than talk of those who sin. 
'Tis better we commence at home. 

And from that point begin. 

^"^e have no right to judge a man 

Until he's fairly tried; 
Should we not like his company. 

We know the world is wide. 
Some may have faults, and who has not? 

The old as well as young; 
Perhaps we may, for all we know, 

Have fifty to their one. 

I'll tell you of a better plan. 

And find it works full well — 
To find your own defects to cure. 

Ere others' faults you tell: 
And though I sometimes hope to be 

Xo worse than some I know. 
My own shortcomings bi ' me let 

The faults of others go. 

Now let us all, when we begin 

To slander friend or foe, 
Think of the harm one word may do 

To those we little know; 
Remember curses, chicken-like. 

Sometimes to roost come home; 
Don't speak of others' faults until 

You have none of your own. 



GATHER WITH CARE. 

"Be circumspect," my mother said. 

In accents soft and low; 
I hear her plainly now as when 

She spoke long years ago. 
Full well s!ie knew the world's deep arts, 

Its evil and deceit: 
.Vnd from its hidden snares she fain 

Would save my eager feet. 

And so in parable she spoke — 

"All are not good as fair. 
Gay flowers spring up on every side, 

But pluck, my love, with care: 
The rose conceals a cruel thorn; 

The nightshade, poisonous breath; 
The poppy flaunts its gaudy head 

Above the seeds of death. 

"Heed not the tallest or the gay; 

But in its lowl.v bed. 
Seek ^here the perfumed violet 

Bends down its modest head. 
Tlie lily, and tlie heartsease, too, 

Are innocent as fair. 
Ah! flowers abound on every side. 

But gather, love, with care." 



THANK HIM. 

For pasture-lands folded with beauty. 

For plenty that burdened the vale. 
For the wealth of the teeming abundance. 

And the promise too royal to fail. 
We lift to the Maker our anthems, 

But none the less cheerily come 
To thank him for bloom and fruition 

And the happiness crowning the home. 
Margaret E. .^axoster. 



and 



FAREWELL, OLD MILL. 

I've come to sit upon thy porch 

Again today, old mill: 
The stream is high and swollen, 

Thy timeworn timbers thrill 
With fall of heavy waters, like 

My heart with grief and joy. 
At recollections of the time 

I wandered liere a boy. 



My steps are slow and trembling, but 

I've come once more to look 
On dear familiar places and 

Each well remembered nook. 
The old stnne basement is the same 

We wandered in and out. 
The still dark pools beneath the rocks 

We angled in for trout. 

The long-used timbers are decayed. 

And roof aslant: I see 
That time has wrought a change, old mill. 

In you as well as me: 
The steps are gone, the creeper climbs 

The moss-grown window sill. 



208 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



The flume is gone or sunken, and 
The busy wheel is still. 

W© waded in the shallows, tempted 

By the silvery gleam 
Of sunshine on the pebbles in 

The cool and limpid stream; 
I would that I might wander by 

The grassy banks once more 
With friends of early childhood, who 

Have reached the other shore. 

Soon autumn leaves will glow throughout 

The hillside and the glen, 
The woodbine turn to crimson, and 

I may not be here then. 
I hear a mournful cadence in 

The waters, but they swell 
The sadness into gladness: so 

Farewell, old mill, farewell. 



SUCCESS. 

I stand, at last, upon the lonesome height — 

The puj-ple- tinted peak that was my goal; 
The prize I used to dream of in the night. 

The lofty end on which I set my soul, 
Is mine today, and all the toil 

And all the scliemes are done; 
But chiding voices echo round 

The height that I have won! 

Ah, futile toil and unrewarded schemes! 

The hope that lured me on has fled away; 
I've gained the height, but lost the sweet 
old dreams. 

And no warm hands clasp my cold hand 
today. 
For on the toilsome steep that I 

Have managed to ascend 
Each step is but the form of one 

Who hailed me as a friend! 



SAY SOMETHING GOOD. 

When over the fair fame of friend or foe 
The shadow of disgrace shall fall, instead 

Of words of blame, or proof of thus and so, 
Let something good be said. 

Forget not that no fellow-being yet 

May fall so low but love may lift liis 
head; 

Even the clieek of shame with tears is wet. 
If something good be said. 

No generous heart may vainly turn aside 
In ways of sympathy; no soul so dead 

But may awaken strong and glorified. 
If something good be said. 

And so I charge ye, by the thorny crown. 
And by the cross on which the Savior 
bled, 
And by your own soul's hope of fair re- 
nown. 
Let something good be said. 

Jambs Whitcoms Riljt. 



OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. 

Oft in the stilly niglit. 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. 
Fond Memory brings me light 
Of other days around me: 
The smiles, the tears 
Of boyhood's years; 
The words of love then spoken; 
The eyes that shone. 
Now dimmed and gone; 
The cheerful hearts now broken. 
Thus, in the stilly night, 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

■RTien I remember all 

The friends, so linked together, 
I've seen around me fall. 

Like leaves in wintry weather, 
I feel like one 
Wlio treads alone 
Some banquet hall deserted. 
Whose lights are fled. 
Whose garlands dead, 
And all but he departed. 
Thus, in the stilly night. 

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

TeoMAa MooBB. 



A SERMON IN RHYME. 

If you have a friend worth loving. 
Love him. Yes, and let him know 

That youi love him, ere life's evening 
Tinge his brow with sunset glow. 

Why should good words ne'er be said 

Of a friend — till he is dead? 

If you hear a song that thrills you, 

Sung by any child of song. 
Praise it. Do not let the singer 

Wait deserved praises long. 
Wi\y should one who thrills your heart 
Lack the joy you may impart? 

If you hear a prayer that moves you, 

By its humble, pleading tone. 
Join it. Do not let the seeker 

Bow before his God alone. 
Why should not your brother share 
The strength of "two or three" in prayer? 

If you see the hot tears falling 
Prom a brother's weeping eyes. 

Share them. And by kindly sharing, 
Own your kinship with the skies. 

Why should any one be glad 

TMien a brother's heart is sad? 

If a silvery laugh goes rippling 
Through the sunshine of his face. 

Share it. 'Tis the wise man's saying — 
For both grief and joy a place. 

There's health and goodness in the mirth 

In which an honest laugh has birth. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



209 



If sour work is made more easy 
By a friendly helping liand. 

Say so. Speak out brave and truly, 
Kre the darkness veil the land. 

Should a brother workman dear 

Falter for a word of cheer? 

Scatter thus your seeds of kindness, 
All enriching as you go — 

Leave them. Trust the harvest-giver; 
He will make each seed to grow. 

So until its happy end, 

Tour life shall never lack a friend. 



THE THING LEFT UNDONE. 

It isn't the thing you do, dear, 

It's the thing you leave undone, 
That gives you a bit of a heartache 

At the setting of the sun. 
The tender word forgotten. 

The letter you did not write. 
The flower you did not send, dear, 

Are your haunting ghosts at night. 

The stone you might have lifted 

Out of a brother's way. 
The bit of heartsome counsel 

You were hurried too much to say, 
The loving touch of the hand, dear. 

The gentle, winning tone 
Which you had no time or thought for 

With troubles enough of your own. 

Those little acts of kindness 

So easily out of mind. 
Those chances to be angels 

\\1iich we poor mortals find, 
Thej- come in night and silence. 

Each sad, reproachful wraith. 
When hope is faint and flagging 

And a chill has fallen on faith. 

For life is all too short, dear. 

And sorrow is all too .great. 
To suffer our slow compassion 

That tarries until too late; 
And it isn't the thing you do. dear. 

It's the thing you leave undone. 
That gives yon a bit of a heartache 

At the setting of the sun. 

Margaret E. Sanosteb. 



SPEAK THE GOOD WORD. 

It isn't the thinking how grateful we are 
For the kindness of friends come to bless 

Our sorrow or loss 

'Xeath the weight of the cross; 
It is telling our gratefulness. 

It isn't the love that they have in their 
hearts. 
And neglect or forget to reveal. 
That brightens the lives 
Of husbands and wives; 
It is telling the love that they feel. 



It isn't the thinking of good to mankind 
That comes as a cooling drink 
To the famishing ones 

Of earth's daughters and sons; 
It is telling the good that we think. 

It isn't the music asleep in the strings 
Of the lute, that entrances the ear. 

And brings to the breast 

The spirit of rest; 
It is only the music we hear. 

It isn't the lilies we hide from the world. 
Nor the roses we keep as our own. 

That are strewn at our feet 

By the angels we meet 
On our way to the great white throne. 

It isn't the silence of hope unexpressed 
Tliat heartens and strengthens the weak 
To triumph through strife 
For the great things of life; 

It's the words of good cheer that we speak. 



THE EMPTINESS OF RICHES. 

Can gold calm passion, or make reason 

shine? 
Can we dig peace or wisdom from the mine? 
Wisdom to gold prefer, for 'tis much less 
To make our fortune than our happiness — 
That happiness which great ones often see, 
With rage and wonder, in a low degree, 
Tliemselves unblessed. The poor are only 

poor. 
But what are they who droop amid their 

store? 
Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state; 
The happy only are the truly great. 
Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings. 
And those best satisfied with cheapest 

things. 

Edward Young. 



GARNER THE BEAUTIFUL. 

Garner the beautiful as you go; 

Wait not for a time of leisure, 
The hours of toil may he long and slow. 

And the moments few of pleasure. 
But beauty strays by the common ways. 

And calls to the dullest being; 
Then let not thine ear be deaf to hear. 

Or thine eye be slow in seeing. 

Kind nature calls from her varied halls. 

"I will give you balm for sadness." 
Let the sunset's gleam and the laugh of 
the stream 

Awaken thoughts of gladness; 
If a bird should pour his song by the door. 

Let thy heart respond with singing; 
The wind and the trees have harmonies 

That may set thy joy-bells ringing. 

Pause oft by a flower in its leafy bower. 
And feast thine eye on its beauty; 



210 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



A queen hath bliss no rarer than this, 

'Tls thy privilege and duty. 
And oh! when the shout of a child rinss 
out, 

And its face is bright with gladness, 
Let it kindle the shine of joy in thine. 

And banish care and sadness! 

Then gather the beautiful by your way; 

It was made for the soul's adorning: 
'Tis a darksome path which no radiance 
hath 

At noon, at eve, in the morning. 
Hard is the soil where we delve and toil 

In the homely field of duty, 
But the hand of our King to us doth fling 

The shining flowers of beauty. 

Anna R. Hendebson. 



CLEANING HOUSE. 

I am cleaning house today, dear one — 
The house of my soul, you know — 

And I've tlirown the windows open wide 
So into each room God's winds may blow. 

I am planning now for a fairer place, 
And friends may gather sweet comfort 
here; 

Its wall to be hung with pleasant thoughts 
That it may send forth love and cheer. 

Pure and wholesome each tiny space, 
I will polish the windows with truth. 

And its home-like fires alike shall charm 
Dreary old age and restless youth. 

Cleaning, scouring, and scrubbing away. 
From the lowest wall to the topmost 
flight. 

Bringing the things of worth to mind, 
Burning the rubbish out of sight. 

There's a tiny closet which must be cleaned. 
Though no one may ever enter there, 

Save my heart and me when my way is 
dark — 
'Tis the place of my secret prayer. 



THE TONGUE. 

"The boneless tongue, so small and weak. 
Can crush and kill," declared the Greek. 

"The tongue destroys a greater horde," 
The Turk asserts, "than does the sword." 

"The tongue can speak a word whose 

speed," 
Saj's the Chinese, "outstrips the steed," 

While Arab sages this impart; 
"The tongue's great storehouse is the 
Heart." 

The Persian proverb wisely saith, 
"A lengthy tongue — an early death." 



Or sometimes takes this form instead : 
"Don't let your tongue cut oft your head." 

From Hebrew wit the maxim sprung; 
"Though feet should slip, ne'er let the 
tongue." 

The sacred writer crowns the whole; 
"Who keeps his tongue doth keep his soul." 



THE SERVICE OF SMILES. 

Go smiling through this world of care. 
And make the days more bright and fair. 
So much the clouds o'erspread the sky, 
So many hopes and comforts die. 
And we can all some clieer impart 
To soothe a dull and careworn heart. 
He serves the Lord who thus beguiles 
The gloom from souls with sunny smiles. 

Go smiling through this world of care; 
'Twill easy make the loads to bear. 
And bring some rest and sweet relief 
To souls borne down by care and grief. 
In each one's lieart some sadness lies. 
And tears have bathed all human eyes. 
He serves the Master who beguiles 
The gloom away with sunny smiles. 

Go smiling all the way along, 
And fill the days witli joy and song; 
Go speak a word of hope and cheer 
To every soul tliat passes near; 
For each of them as well as thee 
That blood was shed on Calvary. 
Ah, Christlike he is who beguiles 
Away both care and grief with smiles. 

W. C. Martin. 



THINGS THAT NEVER DIE. 

The pure, the bright, the beautiful. 
That stirred our hearts in youth : 
The impulses to wordless prayer; 

The streams of love and truth; 
The longings after something lost; 

The spirit's yearning cry; 
Tlie striving after better hopes — 

Tiiese things can never die. 

The timid hand stretched forth to aid 

A brother in his need; 
A kindly word in grief's dark hour. 

That proves a friend indeed; 
The plea for mercy, softly breathed. 

When justice threatens Iiigh; 
The sorrow of a contrite heart — • 

These things shall never die. 

The cruel and the bitter word. 

That wounded as it fell; 
The chillin.g want of sympathy 

Wg feel, but never tell; 
The hard repulse that chills the heart 

WBiose hopes were bounding high — 
In an unfaded record kept. 

These things shall never die 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



211 



Let nothing pass, for every hand 

Must find some work to do; 
Lose not a chance to waken love; 

Be firm, and just, and true; 
So sliall a light that can not fade 

Beam on thee from on high. 
And angel-voices say to thee, 

"These things shall never die." 

Charles Dickens, 



STEPPING IN YOUR STEPS. 

Climbing the mountain wild and liigh. 
Bold was the glance of his eagle eye. 
Proud was the spirit that knew no fear. 
Reckless the tread of the mountaineer: 
Up and down through the fields of snow, 
Down and down o'er the rocks below. 
On and on o'er the pathway steep. 
On o'er the chasms wide and deep. 

Hark! o'er the mountains bleak and wild 
Echoed the voice of a little child: 
"Papa look out! I am coming, too, 
Stepping in your steps, just like you! 
Papa, O papa! just see me! 
Walking like papa — don't you see?" 

Pale was the cheek of the mountaineer — 
Pale with the thrill of an awful fear; 
Paused he quick, and with eager face 
Clasped the child in his strong embrace: 
Backward glanced with liis eye so dim — 
Back o'er the path she had followed him. 

Father, pause in the path of life, 
Rough witli the chasms of sin and strife: 
Wlien you walk with a step so free 
'Mong the rocks where the dangers be. 
List to the voice tliat is sounding sweet — 
List! they are coming — the little feet. 
"U'^lk with care, they are coming, too, 
Stepping in your steps, just like you. 



THE INFINITE. 

There are tones never reached in music, 
And feelings for words too deep; 

There are scenes past all eartlily vision: 
There are griefs that no tears can weep; 

There's a harp unswept, in each bosom kept, 
That only God's hand can sweep. 

There are riches past all earthly treasure. 

And objection no gold can conceal; 
Tliere are tints never reached on the pal- 
ette. 
And a blackness no night can feel; 
There's a jewel unmined, in each heart 
enshrined. 
That only God's hand can reveal. 

There's a language by words never spoken. 
There's a silence no clangor can break; 

There are storms beyond earth's wildest 
tempest. 
And a calm that no terror can shake; 



There's a tliirst for a stream, in each deep 
human dream, 
That only God's hand can slake. 

Oh! what this mysterious problem. 

Beyond the solution of man, 
For which lie hath ever been striving 

Since time and creation began? 
'Tis the deep unexpressed, in each human 
breast. 

Of God's inscrutable plan. 

So, then, in man's ever unfinished. 

But ever perfectible dream. 
Lies proof of his infinite nature— 

A ray from the Eternal Beam; 
And in death there's an hour, when this 
eartii-prisoned power, 

God's merciful hand will redeem. 

W. H. OOBOHN. 



WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? 

Thy neighbor? It is he whom thou 
Hast power to aid and bless. 

Whose aching heart or burning brow 
Thy soothing hand may press. 

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the fainting poor, 

Whose eye with want is dim. 
Whom hunger sends from door to door: 

Go thou and succor him. 

Thy neighbor? 'Tis that weary man„ 
Wliose years are at their brim, 

Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain; 
Go thou and comfort him. 

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the heart bereft 

Of every earthly gem; 
Widow and orphan, helpless left: 

Go thou and shelter them. 

Tliy neighbor? Yonder toiling slave. 

Fettered in thought and limb, 
\^liose hopes are all beyond the grave: 

Go thou and ransom him. 

Wliere'er thou meetest a human form 

Less favored than thine own, 
Remember 'tis thy neighbor man. 

Thy brother or thy son. 

Oh. pass not, pass not heedless by! 

Perhaps thou canst redeem 
Tlie breaking heart from misery; 

Go, share thy lot with him. 



NOT WORK, BUT WORRY. 

It is not the work, but the worry. 

That wrinkles the smooth, fair face: 
That blends gray hair with the dusky 

And robs the form of its grace: 
That dims the luster and sparkle 

Of eyes that were once so bright. 
But now are heavy and troubled. 

With a weary, despondent light 



212 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



it is not the work, but the worry, 

Tliat drives all sleep away; 
As we toss and turn and wonder 

About the cares of the day, 
Do we think ot the hands' hard labor 

Or the steps of the tired feet? 
Ah, no! but we plan and ponder 

How both ends can be made to meet. 

It is not the work, but the worry, 

Tliat makes us sober and sad; 
That makes us narrow and sordid 

When we should be merry and glad. 
There's a shadow before the sunlight, 

And even a cloud in the blue: 
The scent of the roses is tainted. 

The notes of the song are untrue. 

It is not the work, but the worrj'. 

That makes the world grow old; 
Tliat numbers tlie years of its children 

Ere half the story is told: 
Tliat weakens their faith in Heaven 

And tlie wisdom of God's great plan. 
Ah, 'tis not the work, but tlie worry. 

That breaks the heart of man! 



THE BELLS. 

Hear the sledges with the bells. 
Silver bells! 
What a world of merriment their melody 
foretells! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
In the icy air of night! 
Willie tlie stars, that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight. 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically 
wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells. 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the 
bella. 

Hear the mellow wedding-bells, 
Golden bells! 
What a world of happiness their harmony 
foretells! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight! 
From the molten-golden notes. 

And all in tune, 
WTiat a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she 
gloata 

On the moon! 

Oh, from out the sounding cells 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! 
How it swells! 
How it dwells 
On the future! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 



Of the bells, bells, bells. 
Of the hells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells! 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the 
hells! 

Hear tlie loud alarum bells, 
Brazen bells! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbu- 
lency tells! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 
Too much horrified to speak 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune. 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of 

the fire, 
In a mad expostulation to the deaf and 
frantic fire. 

Leaping higher, higher, higher. 
With a desperate desire 
And a resolute endeavor 
Now, now to sit, or never, 
By the side of tlie pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
M^iat a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How the.v clang and clash and roar! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air! 
Yet the ear it fully knows. 
By the twanging 
And the clanging. 
How the danger ebbs and flows; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the Jangling 
And the wrangling, 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger 
of the bells. 

Of the bells! 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells! 
In the clamor and the clangor of the 
bells! 

Hear the tolling of the bells. 
Iron bells! 
What a world of solemn thought their 
monody compels! 

In the silence of the night 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone' 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people. — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone: 
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone. 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman. 
They are neither brute nor human; 
Tliey are Ghouls; 
And their king it Is who tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls. 
Rolls. 
A psean from the bells; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



213 



And his merry bosom swells 

With the piean of tlie bells; 
And he dances and he yells, 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the peean of the bells, 
Of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the throbbing of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells. 

To the sobbing of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time. 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme, 

To the roUins of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, bells; 

To the tolling of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells; 
To the moaning and the groaning of the 
bells! 

Edgar Allan Poe. 



DEALING WITH TROUBLE. 

He that hunts around for trouble 
Wastes liis time, the sages say. 

And retires humbly, sadly. 

Slashed, and bruised, and beaten badly- 
Always loser in the fray. 

He that runs away from trouble 

Must be ever on the go; 
He has never time for gaining 
Heights up which the wise are straining- 

His to skulk and dodge below. 

He that boldly faces trouble 

When it rises in his way, 
Strides ahead and bravely meets it 
Finds his path, when he defeats it. 

Broad and smooth, tlie sages say. 



SADDEST THOUGHTS MAKE SWEET- 
EST SONG. 

\^^hen the twilight shades are falling 

And the even-tide is near. 
Comes the voice of memory calling. 

Soft as falling of a tear; 
And from shadows dim and fleeting 
Com.e the saddest songs and greeting, 

Tet the sweetest that I hear. 

And I dream the olden dreaming 

In the gloaming by the way, 
And life's rosy-tinted gleaming 

Seems to crown the closing day; 
And my heart and brain and being 
Wrapt in visions I am seeing. 

Sad. yet brightest that I may! 

Oh, our .saddest thoughts are sweetest! 

For they span a broader sea. 
Soaring eagle-winged and fleetest 

O'er the world of memory. 



Hope crowned, heavenward and untiring. 
To the good and loved aspiring. 
They are calling unto thee. 

Like the murmur of bright rivers 

In the Islands of the Blest, 
Where the solemn music quivers 

Like a birdling in its nest. 
Come the smiles of those who love us 
From the far-off heavens above us. 

And our saddest songs are best. 

G. W. Warder. 



TOO LATE. 

What silences we keep year after year 
With those who are most near to us and 

dear; 
We live beside each other day by day. 
And speak of myriad things, but seldom say 
The full, sweet word that lies just in our 

reach. 
Beneath the commonplace of common 

speech. 

Then out of sight and out of reach they go — 
These close, familiar friends who loved us 

so! 
And sitting in the shadow they have left. 
Alone with loneliness and sore bereft. 
We think, with vain regret, of some fond 

word 
That once we might have said and they 

have heard. 

For weak and poor the love that we ex- 
pressed 

Now seems, beside the vast sweet uncon- 
fessed; 

And slight the deeds we did to those un- 
done. 

And small the service spent to treasure won. 

And undeserved the praise for word and 
deed 

That should have overflowed the simple 
need. 

This is the cruel cross of life — to be 

FuU-visioned only when tlie ministry 

Of death has been fulfilled, and in the place 

Of some dear presence is but empty space. 

What recollec.ed services can then 

Give consolation for the "might have been"? 



A WORD. 

Words are lighter than the cloud-foam 

Of the restless ocean-spray; 
"Vainer than the trembling shadow 

That the next hour steals away; 
By the fall of summer rain-drops 

Is the air as deeply stirred; 
And the rose-leaf that we tread on 

Will outlive a word. 

Yet on the dull silence breaking 
With a lightning flash, a word. 



214 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Bearins endless desolation 

On its blighting wings, I heard. 

Earth can forge no keener weapon, 
Dealing surer death and pain. 

And the cruel eclio answered 
Through long years again. 

I have Itnown one word hang star-like 

O'er a dreary waste of years, 
And it only shone the brighter 

Looked at through a mist of tears. 
While a weary wanderer gathered 

Hope and heart on life's dark way. 
By its faithful promise shining 

Clearer day by day. 

I have known a spirit calmer 

Than the calmest lake, and clear 
As the heavens that gazed upon it, 

With no wave of hope or fear: 
But a storm had swept across it, 

And its deepest depths were stirred. 
Never, never more to slumber. 

Only by a word. 

AnELAIDH A. PEOCTER. 



INFLUENCE. 

I watched the growth of a little flower, 
And said to myself, "How passing 

strange!" 
For I marked within it the ceaseless 
change 
In silence wrought by mystic power. 

I could not see the air around. 

Nor the forces hid in the beam of light: 
The rain-drop falling was lost to sight: 

Silent and motionless lay the ground. 

But when one day, like a holy thought. 
The petals spread from the blossom's 

heart, 
I saw the beautiful, perfect part 

That each had slowly and surely wrought. 

In secret and silence before me there 

The new creation had sprung and grown, 
■^liose life yet seemed to me less its own 

Than that of water or earth or air. 

And I thought: "O wonderful, deathless 
soul, 
■Whose change we mark as the years go 

by. 
What hidden forces around thee lie. 
Beyond thy knowledge or thy control! 

"Thou canst not trace the mysterious power 
That moves from the outer world to thee, 
Xor tell whence cometh the sj'mphony 

To which the heart throbs hour by hour. 

"Life hideth in thee her secrets well: 

Like the viewless air and the voiceless 

light 
Like the rain-drop falling and lost to 
sight. 
Thej' nothing show to us, nothing tell. 



"But when some day at the Master's call, 
Like petals the years of time unfold 
In thy rounded being we shall behold 

The molding touches of each and all. 

"And Life shall claim thee — the Life that 
throbs 
One whole in the things that God has 

made — 
By every impress upon thee laid, 
Forever abiding, not thine but God's" 

Alich Clawson. 



LEARN A LITTLE EVERY DAY. 

Little rills make wider streamlets: 
Streamlets swell the river's flow: 

Rivers join the ocean-billows. 
Onward, onward as they go! 

Life is made of smallest fragments- 
Shade and sunshine, work and play; 

So may we, with greatest profit. 
Learn a little every day. 

Tiny seeds make boundless harvests; 

Drops of rain compose the showers; 
Seconds make tlie flying minutes. 

And the minutes make tlie hours. 
Let us hasten, then, and catch them. 

As they pass us on our way; 
And with honest, true endeavor. 

Learn a little every day. 

Let us read some striking passage. 

Cull a verse from every page. 
Here a line and there a sentence, 

'Gainst the lonely time of age. 
At our work or by the wayside. 

While the sunshine's making hay; 
Thus we may, by help of Heaven, 

Learn a little every day. 



MEMORIES. 

Once more beneatli my ^-earning eyes 
The deep-secluded vale appears; 

Once more i see the mountains rise 
That, in the dimly distant years. 
Beheld our bitter parting tears. 

The meadow-path by which we walked 
In those old days that were so sweet. 

The stream that talks as then it talked. 
The low-roofed church, the village street, 
That once was glad beneath her feet. 

Each common object seems to say 

With me in mute complaining moan, 

"The light is parted from our day; 
She once was here, but now is gone. 
And we are left alone — alone!" 

I wonder on: yet as I go. 

The joy to view each well-loved scene 
Is vannuished by the greater woe. 

To think of all that might have been. 

Had not a hard fate stepped between. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



215 



Farewell, once more, my heart's sad home; 

Once more I go; yet, wheresoe'er. 
Through length of weary days, I roam. 
One memory, heart-enshrined, I bear — 
This mountain valley green and fair. 
And the sweet flower that blossomed 
there. 

J, S. Mills. 






LITTLE THINGS. 

We call him strong who stands unmoved — 
Calm as some tempest-beaten rock — 
When some great trouble hurls its shock; 

We say of him, "His strength is proved": 
But when the spent storm folds its wings. 
How bears he then life's little things? 

We call him great that does some deed 
That echo bears from shore to shore — 
Does that, and then does nothing more; 

Tet wouJd his work earn richer meed. 
When brought before the King of kings. 
Were he but great in little things. 

We closely guard our castle gates 

When great temptations loudly knock; 
Draw every bolt, clinch every lock. 

And sternly fold our bars and gates; 
Yet some small door wide open swings 
At the sly touch of little things. 

But what is life? Drops make the sea; 
And petty cares and small events 
Small causes and small consequents. 

Make up the sum for you and me; 

Then, oh. for strength to meet the stings. 
That arm the points of little things! 



The eyes that chill me with averted glance. 
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance. 
And soften in the old familiar way. 
For who could war with dumb, uncon- 
scious clay? 
So I might rest, forgiven of all tonight. 

O friends! I praj' tonight. 
Keep not your kisses for my cold, dead 

brow; 
The way is lonely, let me feel them now. 
Think gently of me; I am travel- worn; 
Mj' faltering feet are pierced with many 

a thorn. 
Forgive, O hearts estranged, forgive, I 

plead! 
When dreamless rest is mine, I shall not 

need 
The tenderness for which I long tonight. 



IF I SHOULD DIE TONIGHT. 

If I should die tonight, 
My friends would look upon my quiet face 
Before they laid it in its resting-place. 
And deem that death had left it almost fair; 
And, laying snow-white flowers against my 

hair, 
Would smooth it down with tearful tender- 
ness. 
And fold my hands with lingering caress — 
Poor hands, so empty and so cold tonight! 

If I should die tonight. 
My friends would call to mind with loving 

thought 
Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought, 
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said. 
Errands on which the willing feet had sped; 
The memory of my selfishness and pride. 
My hasty words, would all be put aside. 
And so I should be loved and mourned to- 
night. 

If I should die tonight. 
Even hearts estranged would turn once 

more to me. 
Recalling other days remorsefully; 



LOVE AND LAUGHTER. 

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; 

Weep, and you weep alone: 
This grand old earth must borrow its mirth; 

It has troubles enough of its own. 
Sing, and the hills will answer; 

Sigh, it is lost on the air: 
The echoes bound to a joyful sound. 

But shrink from voicing care. 

Be glad, and your friends are many; 

Be sad and you lose them all: 
There are none to decline your nectared 
wine. 

But alone you must drink life's gall. 
There is room in the halls of pleasure 

For a long and a lordly train. 
But one by one we must all file on 

Through the narrow aisles of pain. 

Feast, and your halls are crowded; 

Fast, and the world goes by; 
Succeed and give, 'twill help you live. 

But no one can help you die. 
Rejoice, and men will seek you; 

Grieve, and they turn and go; 
They want full measure of all your pleas- 
ure. 

But they do not want your woe. 



BE NOT CONTENT. 

Be not content; contentment means inaction; 
The growing soul aches on its upward 
quest; 
Satiety is twin to satisfaction; 

All great achievements spring from life's 
unrest. 

The tiny roots, deep in the dark mold hid- 
ing, 
Would never bless the earth with leaf 
and flower 
Were it not an inborn restlessness abiding 
In seed and germ to stir them with its 
power. 



216 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Were man contented with his lot forever, 
He had not sought strange seas witli 
sails unfurled. 
And the vast wonder of our shores had 
never 
Dawned on the gaze of an admiring 
world. 

Prize what is yours, but be not quite con- 
tented; 

There is a healthful restlessness of soul, 
By which a mighty purpose is augmented. 

In urging men to reach a higher g"oal. 

So when the restless impulse rises, driving 
Your calm content before it, do not 
grieve; 
It is the upward reaching and the striving 
Of the God in you to achieve, achieve. 
Ella Wheeler Wilcos. 



WHAT IS LIFE? 

Ah! what is life? How short it seems! — 
A passing mist, a world of dreams. 

So soon cut oft beyond recall; 
Yet full of joy or fraught with woe. 
The days and years thus come and go; 

Relentless time soon covers all. 

He covers all, yet not unseen — 
Are moments scattered in between. 

The days and hours in pleasure passed, 
WJien thoughts of what beyond us lies. 
Unbidden will before us rise. 

Like mountains in our pathway cast. 

We ny away; the morning dew 

Is scarce less transient to our view; 

It fades before the rising sun; 
Though but the creature of an hour. 
The drooping flowers have felt its power. 

And gladly own its work "well done" 

Then why should life — these fleeting 

years^ 
Be filled with anxious doubt and fears? 

'Tis far too short, too nuickly run; 
Then like the dew, perform our part. 
And cheer some lonely, drooping heart; 
Let no one leave this work undone. 

T. L. Bailey. 



SEEDS. 

We are sowing, daily sowing, 

Countless seeds of good and ill. 
Scattered on the level lowland. 

Cast upon the windy hill — 
Seeds that sink in rich brown furrows. 

Soft with heaven's gracious rain; 
Seeds tliat rest upon the surface 

Of the dry, unyielding plain; 

Seeds that fall amid the stillness 
Of the lonely mountain glen; 

Seeds cast out In crowded places, 
Trodden under foot of men; 



Seeds by idle hearts forgotten. 

Flung at random on tlie air; 
Seeds by faitlifuJ souls remembered. 

Sown in tears and love and prayer; 

Seeds that lie unchanged, unquickened. 

Lifeless on the teeming mold; 
Seeds that live and grow and flourish 

Wlien the sower's hand is cold. 
By a whisper sow we blessings. 

By a breath we scatter strife; 
In our words and looks and actions 

Lie the seeds of death and life. 

Thou who knonest all our weakness. 

Leave us not to sow alone. 
Bid Thine angels guard the furrows 

WTiere the precious grain is sown. 
Till the fields are crowned with glory, 

Filled with mellow ripened ears. 
Filled with fruit of life eternal 

From the seed we sowed in tears. 

Check the froward thoughts and passions. 

Stay the hasty, heedless hands. 
Lest the germs of sin and sorrow 

Mar our fair and pleasant lands. 
Father, help eacli weak endeavor, 

Make each faithful effort blest, 
Till thine harvest shall be garnered, 

And we enter into rest. 



THE END WILL TELL. 

■OTiat if you've made mistakes in life? 

Don't hang your head in sorrow. 
But profit by the lesson learned. 

And better make tomorrow. 

There's no one who can boast of none. 

Philosopher or prophet. 
All you can do is to do your best; 

When you see your wrong, then stop it. 

If you should find you're in a fault. 
And the devil keeps a grinding. 

Just shake him off and fix it up, 
.A.nd thank God for the flnding. 

When others think they see your fauJts, 

Your soul enough to sink it. 
And you are sure you're in the right. 

Keep still and let them think it. 

Keep close to Jesus; Kt him break 

Each selfish band asunder. 
Some day the battle you will win 

While they look on with wonder. 

The battle is the Lord's, not yours; 

Then give him all the glory. 
Stand firm as steel and do not fear; 

He'll win it — don't you worry. 

So trudge along though none may know 
Your worth or give you glory; 

To start out brisk don't win the race; 
The end will tell the story. 

R. L. .\nsTIN. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



'217 



THE FOUR KISSES. 

A baby on a woman's breatst 
Has fallen asleep in peaceful rest; 
With tender care she lays it down, 
Draws o'er its feet the tiny gown; 
Then, thrilled with love, with holy 
Bends low and gives 

A mother's kiss. 



bliss, 



With blushing- cheeks, with downcast eyes, 
A maiden struggles, softly sighs. 
Then yields, and from her fancy's flow 
Drinks deep witli joy tliat angels know; 
Thus two hearts learn the rapturous bliss 
That comes to all, with 

Love's first kiss. 

A troop baits at a cottage door; 
A young wife craves one moment more; 
Her husband draws her to his side — 
'Thou art," says he, "a soldier's bride; 
O Love, I can but give thee this — 
And this — and this — 

My farewell kiss." 

The lamps shed forth a tender light 
Upon a sweet face, cold and white; 
The flowers lie strewn, the dirge is sung. 
The rite is o'er, the bell has rung; 
God help them, by that dread abyss, 
Who sobbing press 

The last sad kiss! 

Geobgh M. Vickers. 



THOUGHT. 

Thought is deeper than all speech, 
Feeling deeper than all thought; 

Souls to souls can never teach 

What unto themselves was taught. 

We are spirits clad in veils; 

Man by man was never seen; 
All our deep communing fails 

To remove the shadowy screen. 

Heart to heart was never known. 
Mind with mind did never meet; 

We are columns left alone 
Of a temple once complete. 

Like the stars that gem the .sky, 
Far apart tliough seeming near. 

In our light we scattered lie; 
All is thus but starlight here. 

What is social companj' 

But a babbling .summer stream? 
What our wise philosophy 

But the glancing of a dream? 

Only when the sun of love 

Melts the scattered stars of thought. 
Only when we live above 

A^Tiat the dim-eyed world has taught, 

Onh when ou,r souls are fed 

By the fount which gave them birth. 



And by inspiration led, 

Wliich they never drew from earth. 

We, like parted drops of rain, 
Swelling till they meet and run. 

Shall be all absorbed again. 
Melting, flowing into one. 

Christoiher Pkarsb Cranch. 



THE HEART S CHOICE. 

A painter quickly seized his brush. 

And on the canvas wrought 
The sweetest image of his soul — 

His heart's most secret thought. 

A minstrel gently struck his lyre, 

And wondrous notes I heard, 
Wliich burned and thrilled and soothed by 
turns. 

And all my being stirred. 

A singer sang a simple song — 
An echo of his soul; 
It vibrates still through all my life, 
And lifts me to its goal. 

A poet took his pen and wrote 

A line of hope and love: 
It was a heaven-born thought, and breathed 

Of purest joys above. 

A man of God, what time my heart 
Was weighed with sorrow down, 

Spoke golden words of faith and trust. 
And they became my crown. 

I see the painter's picture still; 

I hear the minstrel's lyre; 
The singer's song, the poet's thought. 

Still glow with sacred fire; 

But in my heart's most hallowed realm 
The good man's words do live, 

And through my life a perfume breathe 
That naught of earth can give. 

H. A. Lavely. 



QUITE DIFFERENT. 

It is pleasant to dream of the azure sky 

Stretching away so far. 
Like a tranquil ocean of choicest hue. 

With never a cloud to mar, 
\Miere you sail along in a phantom ship. 

With never a care to stin.g; 
But to battle bravely the storms of life. 

Is quite a different thing. 

We may build grand castles in the air. 

With turret and splendid halls, 
^Tiere the soft winds blow and the flowers 
bloom 

And the chilling blast never falls. 
Where you revel in fields of supernal bliss 

WHiile the joy-birds sweetly sing; 
But to be content in a humble cot 

Is quite a different thing 



218 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



It is easy to float down the swiftest stream 

With never a hand at tlie oar. 
Or rock secure in a sheltered gulf 

Right liardby a friendly shore. 
Or drift at will o'er the ebbing tide 

While the fancy like sirens sing; 
But to pull through the waves that would 
overthrow 

Is quite a different thing. 

With rapture we gaze on the scene of life, 

Like a painting grand and rare; 
The deeds we do and the thoughts we think 

In harmony blended there; 
We love to gaze on its roseate hues; 

Our hearts to the canvas cling; 
But to paint the scene as it ought to be 

Is quite a different thing. 

It is easy to offer a friend advice 

We wouldn't expect to take. 
Or give suggestions to one in need 

That another should never make; 
Tell the troubled soul how to rise and soar 

'Hove each trial as on eagle- wing; 
But to up and do wlien the trial comes 

Is quite a different thing. 

It is easy to notice another's faults, 

See just Where he needs reforms, 
See the curbing, hewing, and planing it 
takes 

Till his life to the rule conforms. 
Till virtue surrounds his every deed, 

A perfect unbroken ring; 
But to see ourselves as another sees 

Is quite a different thing. 

LOBAIN MCLilN. 



BETTER THAN GOLD. 

Better tlian grandeur, better than gold, 
Than rank and title a thousandfold. 
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease, 
And simple pleasures that always please. 
A heart that can feel for a neighbor's woe. 
And share his joys with a genial glow. 
With sympathies large enough to enfold 
All men as brothers, is better than gold. 

Better than gold is a conscience clear. 
Though toiling for bread in an humble 

sphere: 
Doubly blessed with content and health, 
Untried by the lust of cares or wealth. 
Lowly living and lofty thought 
Adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot; 
For man and morals, or nature's plan. 
Are the genuine test of a gentleman. 

Better than gold is the sweet repose 
Of the sons of toil when their labors close; 
Better than gold is the poor man's sleep. 
And the balm that drops on his slumbers 

deep. 
Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed 
Where luxury pillows his aching head; 
His simpler opiate labor deems 
A shorter road to the land of dreams. 



Better than gold is a thinking mind 
That in the realm of books can find 
A treasure surpassing Australian ore, 
And live with the great and good of yore. 
The sage's lore and the poet's lay, 
The glories of empires passed away. 
The world's great drama will thus enfold 
And yield a pleasure better than gold. 

Better than gold is a peaceful home, 
"UTiere all the fireside charities come — 
The shrine of love and the heaven of life. 
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife. 
However feeble the home may be. 
Or tried by sorrow with Heaven's decree, 
The blessings that never were bought or 

sold. 
And center there, are better than gold. 
Mrs. J. M. WiNTON. 



GIVE. 

Give, and thou shalt receive. Give thoughts 
of cheer. 
Of courage and success, to friend and 
stranger; 
And from a thousand sources, far and near. 
Strength will be sent thee in thy hour 
of danger. 

Give words of comfort, of defense and hope. 
To mortals crushed by sorrow and by 
error; 
And though thy feet through shadowy paths 
may grope. 
Thou shalt not walk in loneliness or 
terror. 

Give of thy love, nor wait to know the 
worth 
Of what thou lovest, and ask no return- 
ing; 
And wheresoe'er thy pathway leads on 
earth. 
There thou shalt find the lamp of love- 
light burning. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



WAIT. 

Wait is a weary word. 
How often we wait till all is gone. 
Till the joys we wait to clasp are flown. 
Till our hopes are dead in their beautiful 

bloom. 
And we sit and sigh above their tomb! 

Wait is a weary word. 

W!ait is a sorrowful word. 
How often we wait till life is drear. 
Bereft of the ties that make it dear; 
Till the hands are cold that we wait to 

grasp; 
Till the forms are laid low that we wait to 

clasp; 
Till the lips are mute that we wait to kiss. 
And this beautiful world is robbed of bliss! 
Wait is a sorrowful word. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



2I& 



Wait is a lonely word. 
How often we turn from the fireside warm 
And (jaze out Into the night and storm, 
Waiting in vain for coming feet, 
Yearning in vain for a greeting sweet. 
While the feet are at rest and the form is 

low 
On the battle-sod beneath the snow! 

Wait is a lonely word. 

Wait is a pitiful word. 
I have seen a child with tearful eye 
Waiting in hope of the "by and by"; 
I have seen it sob when it waited in vain, 
And I've thought how often with anxious 

brain 
We "children of larger growth" must wait 
For the promised joys that come too late. 

Wait is a pitiful word. 

Wait is a fatal word. 
There are hearts that have waited in vain, 

in vain 
For a dear one's smile to return again. 
Too proud to be humble and say forgive, 
■Ulien that word alone could make them 

live: 
Waiting to see the storm sweep past. 
And the sun of ai.ection return at last. 

Wait is a fatal word. 

Wait is a deathful word. 
How many a soul has wrecked its peace. 
And rashly lost a heaven of bliss. 
By waiting a "more convenient" time 
To seek reprieve for folly and crime. 
By bidding the Spirit, "Go thy way, 
I will attend thee another day"! 

Wait is a deathful word. 

Wait: oh, the fearful word! 
The reef where a thousand hopes are 

wrecked, 
■Where a thousand bright careers are 

checked, 
■Wliere hearts and lives are robbed of bliss. 
Where joy is turned into wretchedness, 
WTiere a thousand lives that might be 

grand 
Lie wrecked and useless upon the strand. 
Father in heaven, may I never wait 
Till the work of my life is begun too late! 
Wait! 'ti.s a fearful word! 

A. I-. Holmes. 



THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 

The head is stately, calm, and wise. 
And bears a princely part; 

And down below in secret lies 
The warm impulsive heart. 

The lordly head that sits above, 
The heart that beats below. 

Their several offices plainly prove. 
Their true relation .show. 

The head, erect, serene, and cool, 
Endowed with Reason's art. 



Was set aloft to guide and rule 
The throbbing, wayward heart. 

And from the head, as from the higher. 
Comes every glorious thought; 

And in the heart's transforming flre 
All noble deeds are wrought. 

Yet each is best when both unite 
To make the man complete; 

What were the heat without the light? 
The light without the heat? 

JojiN G. Sax£. 



TIME. 

We mark the silent step of Time 
With measured tread and slow, 

And hear his voiceless, clanking chime 
On walls of long ago. 

When Time was young, his step was gay, 
His form was lithe and fair; 

But now his locks are turning grey. 
His brow is knit with care. 

We hear him whisper of the past 
With voiceless bated breath; 

Tes; Time is growing old at last 
And soon will end in death. 

Anna K. Thomas, 



MORAL ALCHEMY. 

The toils of alchemists, whose vain pursuit 
Sought to transmute 

Dross into gold; their secrets and their 
store 

Of mystic lore — 

What to the jibing modern do they seem? 

An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream! 

Yet for enlightened moral alchemists 

There still exists 
A philosophic stone, whose magic spell 

No tongue may tell. 
Which renovates the soul's decaying health. 
And what it touches turns to purest mental 
wealth. 

This secret is revealed in every trace 
Of Nature's face. 

Whose seeming frown invariably tends 
To smiling ends. 

Transmuting ills into their opposite. 

And all that shocks the sense to subse- 
quent delight. 

Seems Earth unlovely in her robe of snow? 

Then look below. 
Where Nature in her subterranean ark. 

Silent and dark, 
Already has each floral germ unfurled 
That shall revive and clothe the dead and 
naked world. 

Behold those perished flowers to earth con- 
signed — • 



220 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



They, like mankinii. 
Seek in their grave new birth. By Nature's 
power. 

Each in its hour. 
Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall 

spring. 
And from its tube or chalice heavenward 

incense fling- 
Laboratories of a wider fold 

I now behold, 
^Tiere are prepared the harvests yet un- 
born 

Of wine, oil, corn. 
In those mute rayless banquet-halls I see 
Myriads of coming feasts with all their 
revel rj-. 

Ton teeming minuter cells enclose 

The embryos 
Of fruits and seeds, food for the feathered 
race. 

■SVTiose chanted grace. 
Swelling in choral gratitude on high, 
Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize 
the .sky. 

And what materials, mystic Alchemist! 

Dost thou enlist 
To fabricate this ever-varied feast. 

For man, bird, beast? 
Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, 

bloom? 
From silence, languor, death, unsightliness, 
and gloom! 

From Nature's m.agic hand, whose touch 
makes sadness 

Eventual gladness, 
The reverent moral alchemist may learn 

Thou art to turn 
Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding 

dross 
Into the mental gold that knows not change 
nor loss. 

Lose we a valued friend? — To soothe our 
woe 

Let us bestow 
On those who still survive an added love; 

So shall we prove, 
Howe'er the dear departed we deplore. 
In friendship's sum and substance no di- 
minislied store. 

Lose we our health? — Now may we fully 
know 

What thanks we owe 

For our sane years, perchance of length- 
ened scope: 

Nor does our hope 

Point to the day when sickness, taking 
flight. 

Shall make us better feel health's exquisite 
delight. 

In loslni; fortune, many a lucky elf 
Has found himself. 

As all our moral bitters are designed 
To brace the mind, 



And renovate its healthy tone, the wise 
Their sorest trials hail as blessings in dis- 
guise. 

There is no gloom on earth ; for God above 

Chastens in love. 
Transmuting sorrows into golden joy 

Free from alloy. 
His dearest attribute is still to bless. 
And man's most welcome liymn is grateful 
cheerfulness. 

HoiiACH Smith. 



CHEER UP. 

Up from the east another day 
Sliall chase the bitter dark away; 
What though thine eyes with tears be wet. 
The sunrise never failed us yet. 

Another dawn may yet restore 
Our faith and hope and joy once more; 
Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget 
That sunrise never failed us yet. 

Celu Thaxteb. 



A FAVORITE PATH. 

How soon the.v fade, our footprints here! 

How soon their track becomes less clear, 
O'ergrown by weed or grassy blade. 
Or flower in summer-pride arrayed! 

How soon our memories disappear! 

My path has missed me but one year. 
But once the green leaf has turned sere — 
Lost as the traces which I made — 
How soon they fade! 

O thou by whom our thoughts are weighed. 
Let but our hearts on thee be stayed. 
Let but thy love to us be dear: 
Then all is well; nor need we fear 
How soon earth's bright hours merge in 
shade. 

How soon they fade 

RiCHA£D Wilton. 



I DIDN T THINK. 

If all the troubles in the world 

Were traced back to their start. 
We'd find not one in ten begun 

From want of willing heart; 
But there's a sly woe-working elf 

Who lurks about youth's brink. 
And sure dismay he brings away — 

The elf "I didn't think," 

He seems so sorrj- when he's caught; 

His mien is all contrite; 
He so regrets the woe he's wrought. 

And wants to make things right. 
But wishes do not heal a wound, 

Or weld a broken link; 
The heart aches on, tlie link Is gone — 

All through "1 didn't think." 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



221 



I half believe that ugly sprite. 

Bold, wicked "I don't care," 
In life's long run less harm has done 

Because he is so rare. 
And one can be so stern with him. 

Can make the monster shrink; 
But lack-a-day, what can we say 

To whining "Didn't think"? 

This most unpleasant imp of strife 

Pursues us everywhere: 
There's scarcely one whole day in life 

He does not cause us care: 
Small woes and great he brings the world; 

Strong ships are forced to sink. 
And trains from iron tracks are hurled, 

To whining "Didn't think." 

When brain is comrade to the heart. 

And heart from soul draws grace, 
"I didn't think" will quick depart 

For lack of resting-place. 
If from that great, unselfish stream, 

The Golden Rule, we drink, 
We'll keep God's laws and have no cause 

To say "I didn't think." 



FORGET — REMEMBER. 

Forget each kindness that you do, 
As soon as you have done it; 
Forget the praise that falls to you. 

The moment you have won it; 
Forget the slander that you hear. 

Before you can repeat it: 
Forget each slight, each spite, each sneer. 

Wherever you may meet it. 
Remember every kindness done 

To you, whate'er its measure: 
Remember praise by others won, 

And pass it on with pleasure; 
Remember every promise made. 

And keep it to the letter: 
Remember those who lend you aid, 

And be a grateful debtor. 
Remember all the happiness 

That comes your way in living: 
Forget each worry and distress. 

Be hopeful and forgiving: 
Remember good, remember truth. 

Remember heaven's above you. — 
A.nd you will find, through age and youth. 

True joys and hearts to love you. 



LIVING FOR OTHERS. 

Some one is triuli^inc-. wear>* and worn. 

Along life's rugged way: 
Strength is fast failing, hope almost gone. 

Feet are going astray; 
Speak a kind word his lone heart to cheer; 
Wipe from his eye the sorrowing tear: 
Drive from his life the gloom and despair: 

Lend him a hand today. 

The winds are blowing wildly and chill. 
Filling some heart with fear; 



Some one is toiling long up the hill. 

Under a load of care: 
Some one's tossing on life's ocean-wave. 
No one to pity, no one to save: 
Rush, my brother, witli heart true and brave. 

Help their burdens to bear. 

Be up and doing while it is day; 

Soon the long night will come. 
Tour life is fleeing swiftly away: 

Soon 'twill be past and gone 
Do what you can to help those in need; 
Be a blessing by word and by deed; 
Let "Living for Others " be ever your creed: 

Heaven will give you a crown. 

Chaeles k. Oeb. 



NAY, SPEAK NO ILL. 

Nay, speak no ill; a kindly word 
Can never leave a sting behind: 

And oh! to breathe each tale we've heard 
Is far beneath a noble mind. 

FuJl oft a better seed is sown 

By choosing tlius the kinder plan: 

For if but little good be known. 
Still let us speak the best we can. 

Give me a heart that fain would hide. 

Would fain another's faults efface: 
How can it pleasure human pride 

To prove humanity is base? 

Then, speak no ill. but lenient be 
To others' failing as your own; 

If you're the first the fault to see. 
Be not the first to make it known. 

For life is but a passing day; 

No lip may tell how brief its span; 
Then, oh! what little time we stay. 

Let's speak of all the best we can. 



KNOW THYSELF. 

■WTien gentle Twilight sits 

On Day's forsaken throne. 
Mid the sweet hush of eventide 

Muse by thyself alone. 
And at the time of rest, 

Kre sleep asserts its power. 
Hold pleasant converse with thyself 

In meditation's bower. 

Motives and deeds review 

By Memory's truthful glass. 
Thy silent self the only Judge 

And critic as they pass; 
And if their wayward face 

Should give thy conscience pain. 
Resolve with energy divine 

The victory to gain. 

^nien morning's earliest rays 
O'er spire and roof-tree fall. 

Gladly invite thy waking heart 
Unto a festival 



22a 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Of smiles and love to all, 

The lowliest and the least, 
And of delighted praise to Him, 

The Giver of the feast. 

Not on the outer world 

For inward joy depend; 
Enjoy the luxury of thought, 

Make thine own self thy friend; 
Not with the restless throng. 

In search of solace roam, 
But with an independent zeal 

Be intimate at home. 

Good company have they 

Who by themselves do walk. 
If they have learned on blessed themes 

With their own souls to talk; 
For they shall never feel 

Of dull ennui the power. 
Not penury of loneliness 

Shall haunt tlieir hall or bower. 

Drink waters from the fount 

That in thy bosom springs, 
And envy not the mingled draught 

Of satraps or of kings; 
So Shalt thou find at last, 

Far from the giddy brain, 
Self-knowledge and self-culture lead 

To uncomputed gain. 

Mrs. Ltdia H. SraouBNEY. 



BUILDING UPON THE SAND. 

'Tis well to woo, 'tis well to wed; 

For so the world has done 
Since myrtles grew and roses blew, 

And morning brought the sun. 

But have a care, ye young and fair; 

Be sure ye pledge with truth; 
Be certain that your love will wear 

Beyond the days of youth. 

For if ye give not heart to heart. 

As well as hand for hand. 
You'll find you've played the "unwise part,' 

And "built upon the sand." 

'Tis well to save; 'tis well to have 

A goodly store of gold, 
And hold enough of sterling stuif. 

For charity is cold. 

But place not all your hopes and trust 
In what the deep mine brings; 

We can not live on yellow dust 
Unmixed with purer things. 

And he who piles up wealth alone 

Will often have to stand 
Beside his coffer-chest, and own 

'Tis "built upon the sand." 

'Tis good to speak in kindly guise. 
And soothe whate'er we can; 

For speech should bind the human mind. 
And love link man to man. 



But stay not at the gentle words; 

Let deeds with language dwell: 
The one who pities starving birds 

Should scatter crumbs as well. 

The mercy that is warm and true 

Must lend a helping hand; 
For those who talk, yet fail to do, 

But "build upon the sand." 

Eliza Coos. 



SHAI^D. 

I said it in the meadow-path, 
I say it on the mountain-stairs: 

The best things any mortal hath 

Are those which every mortal shares. 

The air we breathe, the sky, the breeze, 
The light without us and within, 

Life, with its unlocked treasuries, 
God's riches, are for all to win. 

The grass is softer to my tread 
For rest it yields unnumbered feet: 

Sweeter to me the wild-rose red 

Because she makes the whole world sweet 

Into your heavenly loneliness 

Ye welcome me, O solemn peaks! 

And me in every guest you bless 
Who reverently your mystery seeks. 

And up the radiant peopled way 
That opens into worlds unknown. 

It will be life's delight to say, 

"Heaven is not heaven for me alone." 

Rich by my brethren's poverty! 

Such wealth were hideous! I am blest 
Only in what they share with me, 

In what I share with all the rest. 

LCCY Larcom. 



SPEAK GENTLY. 

Speak gently. In this world of ours. 

Where clouds o'ersweep tlie sky. 
And sweetest flowers and fairest forms 

Are ever first to die; 
Where friendship changes, and the ties 

That bind fond hearts are riven, 
Mild, soothing words are like the stars 

That light the midnight heaven. 

There are enough of tears on earth. 

Enough of toil and care; 
And e'en the lightest heart hath much 

To suffer and to bear. 
Within each spirit's hidden depths 

Some sweet hope witliered lies, 
From whose soft, faded bloom we turn 

In sadness to the skies. 

Speak gently, then, and win the smiles 

Back to the shadowed face. 
And bid the clouded brow resume 

Its fresh and youthful grace. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



223 



Thy gentle words, perchance, may guide 

A wanderer to the sky. 
Or teach some earth-bound soul to soar 

Above the things that die. 

Lead gently back the erring feet 

That love perchance to stray; 
Thou canst not know how long they strove 

Ere leaving virtue's way, 
Nor with what desolating power 

Despair's dark phantom came. 
And, with her sad touch, made the heart 

A desert, seared with flame. 

Within that desert there is yet 

Some pure oasis-spot. 
Formed of sweet memories of scenes 

That ne'er can be forgot. 
For that bright soul, with care now worn. 

Bowed down though it may be. 
The selfsame Savior died who gave 

His priceless life for thee. 



THE CROWDED STREET. 

Let me move slowly through the street. 
Filled with an ever-sliifting train, 

Amid the sound of steps that beat 

The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 

How fast the flitting figures come! 

The mild, the fierce, the stony face; 
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and 
some 

Where secret tears have left their trace. 

They pass, to toil, to strife, to rest; 

To halls in which the feast is spread; 
To chambers where the funeral guest 

In silence sits beside the dead. 

And some to happy homes repair, 

■^liere children pressing cheek to cheek. 

With mute caresses shall declare 
The tenderness they can not speak. 

And some, who walk in calmness here. 
Shall sliudder as they reach the door. 

Where one who made their dwelling dear. 
Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 

Touith, with pale cheek and slender frame, 
And dreams of greatness in thine eye, 

Goest thou to build an early name. 
Or early in the task to die? 

Keen son of trade, with eager brow, 
Who is now fluttering in thy snare? 

Thy golden fortunes — tower they now. 
Or melt the glittering spires in air? 

Who of this crowd tonight shall tread 
The dance till daylight gleams again? 

Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? 
Who writhe in throes of mortal pain? 

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
The cold, dark hours, how slow the light; 



And some, who Haunt amid the throng. 
Shall hide in dens of shame tonight. 

Each where his tasks or pleasures call. 
They pass, and heed each other not. 

There is who heeds, wlio holds them all 
In His large love and boundless thought. 

Those struggling tides of life that seem 
In wayward, aimless course to tend. 

Are eddies of the mighty stream 
That rolls to its appointed end. 



THE BLESSING OF SONG. 

"What a friend we have in Jesus," 
Sang a little child one day; 

And a weary woman listened 
To the darling's happy lay. 

All her life seemed dark and gloomy, 
All her heart was sad with care; 

Sweetly rang out baby's treble — 
"All our sins and griefs to bear." 

She was pointed out the Savior, 
Wlio would carry every woe. 

And the one who sadly listened 
Needed that dear Helper so! 

Sin and grief were heavy burdens 
For a fainting soul to bear; 

But the baby, singing, bade her, 
"Take it to the Lord in prayer." 

With a simple, trusting spirit. 
Weak and worn she turned to God, 

Asking Christ to take her burden. 
As he was the sinner's Lord. 

Jesus was the only refuge. 

He could take her sin and care. 

And he blessed the weary woman 
When she came to him in prayer. 

And the happy child, still singing. 
Little knew she had a part 

In God's wondrous work of bringing 
Peace unto a troubled heart. 



FORGIVE AND FORGET. 

Forgive and forget! Why, the world would 
be lonely. 
The garden a wilderness left to deform. 
If the flowers but remembered the chilling 
winds only. 
And the fields gave no verdure for fear 
of the storm. 
Oh, still in thy loveliness emblem the 
flower. 
Give the fragrance of feeling to sweeten 
Ufa's way; 
And prolong not again the brief cloud of 
an hour. 
With tears that but darken the rest of 
the day! 



224 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Forgive and forget! there's no breast so un- 
feeling 
But some gentle thoughts of affection 
there live; 
And the best of us all require something 
concealing, 
Some heart that with smiles can forget 
and forgive. 
Then, away with the cloud from those beau- 
tiful eyes; 
That brow was no home for such frowns 
to have met; 
Oh! how could our spirits e'er hope for the 
skies. 
If Heaven refused to forgive and forget? 
Charles Swain. 



LITTLE THINGS. 

Only one pillar that was decayed. 

Only one pillar tall; 
The rest of the temple was grand and 
strong: 

One pillar caused its fall. 

Only one leak in the vessel grand. 

Only a broken plank; 
Only a leak, just a little thing; 

By it the vessel sank. 

Only a word, a cruel word, 

Thoughtlessl.v dropped one day, 

Caused a wound in the heart of a friend — 
A wound that may last for aye. 

Only an action mean and low, 

Acted in haste and bold. 
Drove a friend from the fold of love 

Out in the dark and cold. 

Only one deed, just one little deed. 

Done in a manner cold. 
Brought to the heart of many a one 

Sorrow a hundredfold. 

Only a sin, just a little sin. 

Committed in haste one day. 
Quickly grew to be manifold. 

Ruined a life for aye. 

Ah! These are only the little things, 
Tet who can their power declare? 

How they bring sorrow, pain, and woe! 
How they bring floods of care! 

Only a smile, a cheering smile. 

Shed on the darkening pall. 
Cheered the heart of a downcast friend, 

Bri.ghtened the way for all. 

Only a word, a gentle word. 

Spoken in sympathy sweet. 
Lifted higher a broken life. 

Smoothed the way for the feet. 

Only a deed that was good and pure, 

Done with a gentle hand, 
Strengthened one who was sadly weak. 

Helped a brother to stand. 



All! These are only the little things! 

What is the use of these? 
They cheer the life, lift up the soul. 

And give the heart true ease. 

Do what is good and noble, then; 

Speak what Is pure and grand; 
Help some one out of sorrow's wa}', 

lielp the feeble to stand. 

Brighten the way with smiles and love. 
Cheer every one you meet; 

Smooth the pathway with golden deeds- 
Life >vill be twice as sweet. 

Lorain McLain. 



WHO OF US? 

Who of us know 
The heartaches of the men we meet 
Each day in passing on the busy street, 
Tlie woes and cares that press them. 
Forebodings that distress them — 
WTio of us know? 

Wlio of us think 
Of how hot tears have traced the smiling 

cheek 
Of some we meet who would not dare to 

speak 
The pangs they feel, the burdens that they 

bear, 
Each hour that passes through the solemn 

year — 
■Who of us think? 

Who of us care 
To try to think and know their pain and 

grief. 
And help to bring the breaking hearts relief; 
To lielp to bear tlie burdens of their care. 
By tender word and loving look and prayer — 
Who of us care? 

S. C. Allen. 



DON T DEEPEN THE WRINKLES. 

Is father's eyesight growing dim. 

His form a little lower? 
Is mother's hair a little gray. 

Her step a little slower? 
Is life's hill growing hard to climb? 

Make not their pathway steeper; 
Smooth out the furrows on their brows — 

Oh, do not make them deeper! 

There's nothing makes a face so young 

As joy, youth's fairest token: 
And nothing makes a face grow old 

Like hearts tliat have been broken. 
Take heed lest deeds of thine should make 

Thy mother be a vAeeper: 
Stamp peace upon a father's brow — 

Don't make the wrinkles deeper. 

In doubtful pathways do not go. 
Be tempted not to wander; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



Grieve not the hearts that love you so, 
But make their love grow fonder. 

Much have thy parents borne for thee; 
Be now their tender keeper, 

And let them lean upon thy love — 
Don't make the wrinkles deeper. 

Be lavish with thy loving deeds; 

Be patient, true, and tender; 
And make the path that ageward leads, 

Ag-low with earthly splendor. 
Some day thy dear ones, stricken low. 

Must yield to Death, the reaper; 
And you will then be .glad to know 

You made no wrinkles deeper. 



BEHIND THE SCENES. 

Our eyes are caiight by a pretty scene; 

It seems there can be no lack: 
We turn away but a little, perhaps. 

And the picture is draped in black. 

If you knew the truth, how different 
Life's drama would often appear; 

Were things sometimes turned inside out 
The smile might turn to a tear. 

The strains of the harp, sweet as could be. 
Swept out to me, wave on wave; 

But much of the charm was lost when I 
learned 
That the dark-skinned lad was a slave. 

Things are not always what they seem to 
be. 
Under this great blue dome: 
There are tragedies played that the world 
knows not, 
In the four little walls called home. 

They called him close and penurious; 

They laughed at the clothes he wore; 
It was months ere they knew 'twas for 
mother's sake, 

To keep the wolf from the door. 

They thought her a silent, unlovely wife; 

They pitied the man at her side; 
But one day, when tlie veil was raised, they 
saw 

How it read where the curtains hide. 

So be careful, m.v dear, how you criticise 

On sight, a single tiling; 
For 'twill not redound to your comfort much 

If your tongue has added a sting. 

SIATTIB GERGEN. 



PRESS ON. 

Press on! surmount the rocky steeps. 
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch: 

He fails alone who feeble creeps: 

He wins who dares the hero's march. 

Be thou a hero! let thy might 

Tramp on eternal snows its way. 



And, through the ebon walls of niglit, 
Hew down a passage unto day. 

Press on! if once and twice thy feet 

Slip back and stumble, harder try; 
From him who never dreads to meet 

Danger and death, they're sure to tly. 
To coward ranks the bullet speeds. 

■Uliile on their breasts who never quail 
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds. 

Bright courage, like a coat of mail. 

Press on! if Fortune play tliee false 

Today, tomorrow she'll he true; 
Whom now she sinks, she now exalts. 

Taking old gifts, and granting new. 
The wisdom of the present hour 

Makes up for follies past and gone: 
To weakness, strength succeeds, and power 

From frailty springs. Press on, press on! 

Therefore, press on, and reach the goal, 

And gain the prize, and wear the crown; 
Faint not, for to the steadfast soul 

Come wealth and honor and renown. 
To thine own self be true, and keep 

Thy mind from sloth, thy lieart from soil; 
Press on, and tliou shalt surely reap 

A heavenly harvest for thy toil. 

Park Benjamin. 



THE PRESENT. 

Do not crouch today, and worship 

The old Past whose life is fled: 
Hush your voice with tender reverence; 

Crowned he lies, but cold and dead: 
For the Present reigns our monarch, 

WTth an added weight of hours: 
Honor her, for she is mighty! 

Honor her, for she is ours! 

See, the shadows of his heroes 

Girt around her cloudy throne; 
Every day the ranks are strengthened 

By great hearts to him unknown. 
Noble things the great Past promised, 

Holy dreams both strange and new; 
But the Present shall fulfil them. 

What he promised she shall do. 

She inherits all his treasures. 

She is heir to all his fame: 
And the light that lightens round her 

Is the luster of his name. 
She is wise with all his wisdom. 

Living on h';s grave she stands: 
On her brow she bears his laurels, 

And his harvest in her hands 

Coward, can she reign and conquer 

If we thus het glory dim? 
Let us fight for her as nobly 

As our fathers fought for him. 
God. who crowns the dying ages. 

Bids her rule and us obey; 
Bids us cast our lives before her. 

Bids us serve the great Today. 

Adblaidb a. Procteh. 



226 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



LIFE, TIME, ANTICIPATION 



SOJOURNERS. 



[At the age of 83 there died in Boston a Christian 
man who for three years before his death had read 
tljese versed to his wife every evening after family 
prayers. ] 

This way is long, my darling, 

Tlia road is rough and steep, 
And fast across the evening sky 

I see the shadows sweep; 
But oh! my love, my darling. 

No ill to us can come. 
No terror turn us from the path. 

For we are going home. 

Tour feet are tired, my darling — 

So tired the tender feet! 
But think, when we are there at last. 

How sweet the rest! how sweet! 
For lo! the lamps are lighted. 

And yonder gleaming dome, 
Before us shining like a star. 

Shall guide our footsteps home. 

■Wte've lost the flowers we gathered 

So early in the morn! 
And on we go with empty hands. 

And garments soiled and worn; 
But oh! the great All-Father 

Will out to meet us come. 
And fairer flowers and whiter robes 

There wait for us at home. 

Art cold, my love, and famished? 

Art faint and sore, athirst? 
Be patient yet a little while. 

And joyous as at first! 
For oh! the sun sets never 

Within that land of bloom. 
And thou shall eat the bread of life. 

And drink life's wine at home. 

The wind blows cold, my darling, 

Adown the mountain steep, 
And thick across the evening sky 

The darkling shadows creep! 
But oh ! my love, press onward, 

Wliatever trials come. 
For in the way the Father set, 

W© two are going home. 



MUTABILITY. 

[This poem represents human life viewed objec- 
tively, and must not be taken ss a sanction of what- 
ever falls below a proper standard.] 

How soon the joys which we have known. 

The treasures of our greener years. 
Become with moss and rust o'ergrown. 

Till scarce the sculptured name appears! 

The relics of the past, though few. 

Neglected lie within the heart: 
The weeds of time conceal their hue. 

Or but reveal the tints in part. 



The plaything of the prattling boy 
Is all the world to him today; 

Tomorrow brings another toy, 

For which he flings the old away. 

But not alone to infant mind, 

But to the gray-haired children too, 

A toy appears of fair design, 
Until replaced by something new. 

And friends to whom we said adieu 
And wept to clasp the parting hand 

Fade from the memory, like the liue 
Of words engraven on the sand. 

The vows that made the parting sweet. 
On memory's tablet yield their place 

To words of love and smiles that meet 
Reflection in a fairer face. 

And love that we regard as true 
Leaks into flame, and then expires, 

Or bursts from other vents anew, 
Relit by flames from other fires. 

And yet I deem it well that such 
Is life and all that it contains; 

For Memory comes with softened touch 
And brings to mind our lessened pains. 

And oh, the past! the silent past! 

What shudders seize the maddened brain 
When scarce we dare to think, at last 

The past might come to light again! 

For deeply buried in the dust 

Are secrets that we fain would keep; 

Their tombs we guard witli sacred trust 
Till we, with them, lie down to sleep. 

J. H. ASHABRANNEB 



GOD S-ACRE. 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls 
The burial-ground God's-acre! It is just; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls. 
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping 
dust. 

God's-acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have 
sown 
The seed that they had garnered in their 
hearts. 
Their bread of life, alas! no more their 
own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast. 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 
At the great harvest, when the archangel's 
blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and 
grain. 

Tlien shall the good stand in immortal 
bloom 
In the fair gardens of that second birth. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 227 



And each bright blossom ming^le its per- 
fume 
With tliat of flowers which never bloomed 
on earth. 

Witli thy rude plowshare. Death, turn up 
the sod. 
And spread the furrow for the seed we 
sow; 
This is the field and acre of our God; 
This is the place where human harvests 
grow. 

Henrt Wadswobth Loxgfbllow. 



THE AIM OF LIFE. 

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, 

not breaths; 
In feelingrs, not in figures on a dial. 
We sliould count time by heart-throbs when 

they beat; 
For God. for man, for duty. He most lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts 

the best; 
And he whose heart beats quickest, lives 

tlia longest — 
Lives in an hour more than in years do 

some 
Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along 

their veins. 
Life is but a means to an end; that end. 
Beginning, mean, and end to all things — 

God. Philip James Bailet. 



sky; 



THE WORLD AND I. 

IN YOUTH. 
Upon the shingly beach I dream, 
A boy, with bare feet tucked in sand. 
And longing look to sea; 
Nor mind the roaring waters sweep 
On troubled bosom at my feet 
The fragments of a wreck. 
To me the world is young, 
And clearly shines the o'er-arched 
The pebbles, freshly washed, to me 
Are bright as rubies are! 

The world is young! 

The world and I are young! 



IN OLD AGE. 
A trembling shadow of the past. 
I totter down the lane. 
About me heaps the drifting snow; 
The heavy branches, bending low. 
Bow stately as I pass; 
The lusty breeze, ice-Iadened sweeps 
Athwart the lonely lane. 
Nor stops to spare my heavy years 
Nor cheer my heart-felt pain. 
Upon my head the fingers of the frost 
Have left a hoary crest. 
While upon the wintry blast 
I hear the message carried — rest. 

The world is old! 

The world and I are old! 

Xellih Olson. 



DEATH, THE LEVELER. 

The glories of our blood and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armor against fate; 
Death lays his icy hand on kings: 
Scepter and crown 
Must tumble down. 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield; 
They tame but one another still: 
Early or late. 
They stoop to fate. 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brow, 

Tlien boast no more your mighty deeds; 
Upon death's purple altar now 

See where the victor-victim bleeds: 
Your heads must come 
To tlie cold tomb; 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 

James Shiblet. 



THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. 

There are gains for all our losses; 

There are balms for all our pain: 
But when youth, the dream, departs, 
It takes something from our hearts. 

And it never comes again. 

We are stronger, and are better. 
Under manhood's sterner reign; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth, with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful is vanished, 

And we sigh for it in vain; 
We behold it everywhere. 
On the earth, and in the air. 
But it never comes again. 

R. H. Stoddabo. 



EVENING TIME BEST. 

Tliere are who say that evening time is 

best, 
Wlhen everything in nature sinks to rest; 
Although the morning hour is passing 

fair. 
With warmth and beauty springing every- 
where. 
And hope abrooding in the balmy air, 
And drowning with glad music anxious 
care. 
Still many hold that evening is best. 

Full well I know that evening time is best 
To one aweary and in need of rest: 

But surely morning, with its rosy light 



228 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Asweepins back the curtains of the night, 
Until the eartli, all beautiful and bright, 
Bursts forth in one grand anthem of de- 
light, 
To youth and joyous childhood is the best. 

But oh, to me the evening time is besti 
For I am tired, and I sigh for home; 
I long beneath my Blather's roof to rest, 
To lean my head upon my Brother's 

breast; 
I watch the sun declining to the west, 
Rejoicing that the evening time is come! 
Mrs. Lou S. Bedfoed. 



UNENDING LIFE ON EARTH UNDE- 
SIRABLE. 

To live a htindred years, or e'er so few — ■ 

'Tis repetition all, and nothing new; 

A fair where thousands meet, but none can 

stay; 
An inn where travelers bait, then post 

away; 
A sea where man perpetually is tost. 
Now plunged in business, now in trifles 

lost: 
Who leaves it first, the peaceful port first 

gains. 

Might I from Fortune's bounteous hand re- 
ceive 
Each boon, each blessing, in her power to 

give — ■ 
Genius and science, morals and good sense, 
Unenvied honors, wit and eloquence, 
A numerous offspring to the world well 

known, 
Both for paternal virtues and their own — 
E'en at this mighty price I'd not be bound 
To tread the same dull circle round and 

round; 
The soul requires enjoyments more sub- 
lime. 
By space unbounded, undestroyed by time. 

SOAMH JENYNS. 



WE ARE GROWING OLD. 

We are growing old — how the thought will 

rise. 
As a glance is backward cast! 
We note our wrinkles with weary sighs; 
The luster is dim in our once bright eyes. 
L,if6's sun is sinking fast; 
The lengthening shadows along our patli 
Warn us the evening's near; 
.\nd just before us death's river flows; 
When the hour is still and our souls repose. 
The lap of its waves we hear. 

But why need we care? .Tust across its tide 

Lieth the land of rest; 

Sometimes we hear, mid life's storms and 

calms. 
The soft wind's murmur amid its palms. 
And the anthems of the blest; 



And oft we hear with our spirit care, 
When the winds of heaven breathe low, 
Sounding from Salem's gold-paved street 
The echoing tread of our loved ones' feet. 
Who left us long ago. 

And often we see, with spirit eyes. 

Through sunset's mystic bar. 

In the vast, dim distance the shadowing 

gleam 
Of the city of light and life's fair stream, 
Through the golden gates ajar. 
Oh, the flowers of spring are fair to see. 
Yet sweet doth the fall rose blow. 
And grander than morning's radiance fair, 
When dewy blossoms perfume the air. 
To sunset's golden glow. 

We mourn not the vanished days of spring ,. 

We care not we're growing old. 

In the fear of the Lord let us pass each 

day ; 
Then let them speed away, away. 
Swift as a tale that's told. 
We are looking away from this desert land 
To the happy home of the blest. 
Patiently waiting year by year. 
Till the glad sweet summons our souJs shall 

hear, 
"Come, enter into rest." 

Mrs. LiDi M. .Smith. 



THE INQUIRY. 

Tell me, ye winged winds, tliat round my 

pathway roar, 
Do ye not know some spot where mortals 

weep no more? 
Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley 

in the west. 
Where, free from toil and pain, the weary 

soul may rest? 
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low. 
And sighed for pity as it answered — "No." 

Tell me, thou miglity deep, whose billows 
round me play, 

Know'st thou some favored spot, some 
island far away. 

Where weary man may find the bliss for 
which lie sighs, 

Wliere sorrow never lives, and friendship 
never dies? 
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow. 
Stopped for awhile, and sighed to an- 
swer — "No." 

And thou, serenest moon, that, with such 
lovely face. 

Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's 
embrace. 

Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not 
seen some spot, 

Wliere miserable man might find a hap- 
pier lot? 
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in 

woe. 
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded — 
"No." 



SENTIME.NV AND REFLECTION — Liic, Tiiuf, Anticipation. 229 



Tell me, my secret soul — oh! tell me, Hope 

and Faith, 
Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, 

and death ? 
Is there no happy spot, where mortals may 

be blest. 
Where grief may find a balm, and weari- 
ness a rest? 
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mor- 
tals given. 
Waved their bright wings, and whis- 
pered — "Yes, in heaven!" 

Charles Mackat. 



THE FAST. 

[In the last stanzn Bryant alludes to his father. 
and to a sister, who died in her twent.v-second year. ] 

Thou unrelenting Past! 
Strong are the barriers round tliy dark do- 
main. 

And fetters, sure and fast. 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 

Far in thy realm withdrawn, 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom. 

And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth. 
Youth, manhood, age that draws us to the 
ground. 

And last, man'.s life on earth. 
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 

Thou hast my better years; 
Thou hast my earlier friends, the good, the 
kind. 

Yielded to thee witli tears — 
The venerable form, the exalted mind. 

My spirit j'earns to bring 
The lost ones back — yearns with desire in- 
tense. 
And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives 
thence. 

In vain; thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
Thou givest them back, nor to the broken 
heart. 

In thy abys.ses hide 
Beauty and excellence unknown; to thee 

Earth's wonder and her pride 
Are gathered as the waters to the sea; 

Labors of good to man. 
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith. 

Love, that midst grief began. 
And grew with years, and faltered not in 
death. 

Full many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered. unrevered; 

With thee are silent fame. 
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 



Thine for a space are they. 
Yet Shalt thou yield thy treasures up at 
last; 

Thy gates shall yet give way. 
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! 

All tliat of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest 
time. 

Shall then come forth to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perished — no! 
Kind words; remembered voices once so 
sweet; 
Smiles, radiant long ago; 
And features, the great soul's apparent 
seat. 

All shall come back; each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again; 

Alone shall Evil die, 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung. 

And her, who, still and cold. 
Pills the next grave — the beautiful and 
young. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE FLOOD OF YEARS. 

A mighty Hand, from an exhaustless urn. 
Pours forth the never-ending Flood of 

Years, 
Among the nations. How the rushing waves 
Bear all before them! On their foremost 

edge. 
And there alone, is life. The present there 
Tosses and foams, and fills tlie air with roar 
Of mingled noises. There are they who toil, 
And they who strive, and they who feast, 

and they 
Who hurry to and fro. The sturdj' s^\'ain — 
Woodman and delver w'ith tlie spade — is 

there. 
And bus>' artisan beside his bench. 
And pallid student witli his written roll. 
A moment on the mounting billow seen. 
The flood sweeps over them, and they are 

gone. 
Tliere groups of revelers whose brows are 

twined 
With roses, ride the topmost swell a while. 
And as the.v raise their flowing cups and 

touch 
The clinking brim to brim, are whirled 

beneatli 
Tlie waves and disappear. I hear the jar 
Of beaten drums, and thunders that break 

forth 
From cannon, where the advancing billow 

sends 
Up to the sight long flies of armed men. 
That hurry to the charge through flame 

and smoke. 
The torrent hears them under, whelmed and 

hid 



230 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Slayer and slain, in heaps of bloody foam. 
Down go the steed and rider, the plumed 

chief 
Sinks with his followers; the head that 

wears 
The imperial diadem goes down beside 
The felon's with cropped ear and branded 

cheek, 
A funeral-train — the torrent sweeps away 
Bearers and bier and mourners. By the bed 
Of one who dies men gather sorrowing?. 
And women weep aloud; the flood rolls on; 
The wail is stifled and the sobbing group 
Borne under. Hark to that shrill, sudden 

shout. 
The cry of an applauding multitude, 
Swayed by some loud-voiced orator who 

wields 
The living mass as if he were its soul! 
The waters choke the shout and all is still. 
Lo! next a kneeling crowd, and one who 

spreads 
The hands in prayer — the engulfing wave 

o'ertakes 
And swallows them and him. A sculptor 

wields 
The chisel, and the stricken marble grows 
To beauty; at his easel, eager-eyed, 
A painter stands, and sunshine at his touch 
Gathers upon his canvas, and life glows; 
A poet, as he paces to and fro. 
Murmurs his sounding lines: awhile they 

ride 
The advancing billow, till its tossing crest 
Strikes them and flings them under, while 

their tasks 
Are yet unfinished. See a mother smile 
On her young babe that smiles to her again; 
The torrent wrests it from her arms; she 

shrieks 
And weeps, and midst her tears is carried 

down. 
A beam like that of moonlight turns the 

spray 
To glistening pearls; two lovers, hand in 

hand. 
Rise on the billowy swell and fondly look 
Into each other's eyes; the rushing flood 
Flings them aijart; the youth goes down; 

the maid 
With hands outstretched in vain, and 

streaming eyes. 
Waits for the next high wave to follow liim. 
An aged man succeeds; his bending form 
Sinks slowly; mingling with the sullen 

stream. 
Gleam the white locks, and then are seeji 

no more. 
Lo! wider grows the stream — a sea-like 

flood 
Saps earth's walled cities; massive palaces 
Crumble before it; fortresses and towers 
Dissolve in the swift waters; populous 

realms 
Swept by the torrent see their ancient 

tribes 
Engulfed and lost; their very languages 
Stifled, and never to be uttered more. 

I pause and turn my eyes, and looking 

back 



Where that tumultous flood has been, 1 see 
The silent ocean of the past, a waste 
Of waters weltering over graves, its sliores 
Strewn with the wreck of fleets where mast 

and hull 
Drop away piecemeal; battlemented walls 
Frown idly, green with moss, and temples 

stand 
Unroofed, forsaken by the worshiper. 
There lie memorial stones, whence time lias 

g nawed 
The graven legends; thrones of kings o'er- 

turned; 
The broken altars of forgotten gods; 
Foundations of old cities and long streets 
Where never fall of human foot is heard 
On all the desolate pavement. I behold 
Dim glimmerings of lost jewels, far within 
The sleeping waters — diamond, sardonyx, 
Ruby and topaz, pearl and clirysolite. 
Once glittering at the banquet on fair brows 
That long ago were dust; and all around 
Strewn on tlie surface of that silent sea 
Are withering bridal wreaths, and glossy 

locks 
Shorn from dear brows, by loving hands, 

and scrolls 
O'erwritten, hajily with fond words of love 
And vows of friendship, and fair pages flung 
Fresh from the printer's engine. There thev 

lie 
A moment, and then sink away from sight. 
I look, and the quick tears are in my 

eyes. 
For I behold in every one of these 
A blighted hope, a separate history 
Of human sorrows, telling of dear ties 
Suddenly broken, dreams of happiness 
Dissolved in air. and happy days too brief 
That sorrowfully ended; and I think 
How painfully must the poor heart have 

beat 
In bosoms without number, as the blow 
Wfes struck that slew their hope and broke 

their peace. 
Sadly I turn and look before, where yet 
The flood must pass, and I behold a mist 
■Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood 

of Hope, 
Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers. 
Or wander among rainbows, fading soon 
And reappearin.g, haply giving place 
To forms of grisly aspect such as Fear 
Shapes from the idle air — where serpents 

lift 
The head to strike, and skeletons stretch 

forth 
The bony arm in menace. Further on 
A belt of darkness seems to bar the way. 
Long, low, and distant, where the life to 

come 
Touches the life that is. The Flood of Tears 
Rolls toward it near and nearer. It must 

pass 
That dismal barrier. What is there beyond? 
Hear what the wise and good have said! 

Beyond 
That belt of darkness, still the years roll on 
More v^ently, hut with not less mighty 

sweep. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION-^Life, Time, Anticipation. -^31 



They gather up again and softly bear 
All the sweet lives that late were over- 
whelmed 
And lost to sight; all that in them was 

good, 
Noble, and truly great, and worthy of love — 
The lives of infants and ingenuous youths. 
Sages and saintly women who have made 
Their households happy; all are raised and 

borne 
By that great current in its onward sweep. 
Wandering and rippling with caressing 

waves 
Around green islands with the breath 
Of flowers that never wither. So they pass 
From stage to stage along the shining 

course 
Of that bright river, broadening like a sea 
As its smootli eddies curl along their way. 
They bring old friends together; hands are 

clasped 
In joy unspeakable; the mother's arms 
Again are folded round the child she loved 
And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now, 
Or but remembered to make sweet the hour 
That overpays them; wounded hearts that 

bled 
Or broke are healed forever. In the room 
Of this grief-shadowed present, there shall 

be 
A present in whose reign no grief shall 

gnaw 
The heart, and never shall a tender tie 
Be broken; in whose reign the eternal 

change 
That waits on growth and action shall pro- 
ceed 
With everlasting concord hand in hand. 

William Cullen Brtaxt. 



THE ROUND OF LIFE. 

Two children down by the shining strand. 

With eyes as blue as the summer sea, 
While the sinking sun fills all the land 

With the glow of a golden mystery; 
Laughing aloud at the sea-mew's cry. 

Gazing with joy on its snowy breast. 
Till the first star looks from the evening 
sky. 

And the amber bars stretch over the west. 

A soft green dell by the breezy shore; 

A sailor lad and a maiden fair; 
Hand clasped in hand, while the tale of 
yore 

Is borne again on the listening air; 
For love is young, though love be old. 

And love alone the heart can fill; 
And the dear old tale that has been told 

In the days gone by is spoken still. 

A trim-built home on a sheltered bay; 

A wife looking out on the glistening sea; 
A prayer for the loved one far away. 

And prattling imps, 'neath the old roof- 
tree > 
A lifted latch and a radiant face 

By the open door in the fallinjr nisht; 



A welcome home and a warm embrace 
From the love of his youth and his chil- 
dren bright. 

An aged man in an old arm-chair; 

A golden light from the western sky; 
His wife by his side, with her silvered hair, 

And the open book of God close by. 
Sweet on the bay the gloaming falls, 

And bright is the glow of the evening 
star; 
But dearer to them are the jasper walls 

And the golden streets of the land afar. 

An old church-yard on a green hillside; 
Two lying still in their peaceful rest; 
The fishermen's boats going out with the 
tide 
In the fiery glow of the amber west. 
Children's laughter and old men's sighs, 

The night that follows the morning clear, 
A rainbow bridging our darkened skies, 
Are the round of our lives from year to 
year. 

Alexander Lamoxt. 



WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCH- 
YARD, YORKSHIRE. 

Methlnks it is good to be here; 
If thou wilt, let us build — but for whom? 

Nor Klias nor Moses appear. 
But the shadows of eve that encompass the 

gloom, 
The abode of the dead and the place of the 
tomb. 

Shall we build to Ambition? Oh, no! 
Affrighted, he shrinketh away; 

For see! they would pin him below. 
In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with 

cold clay. 
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a 
prey. 

To Beauty? Ah, no! she forgets 
The charms whicli she wielded before, 

Nor knows the foul worm that he frets 
The skin which but yesterday fools could 

adore 
For the smoothness it held or the tint 
which it wore. 

Shall we bujld to the purple of Pride — - 
The trapping which bedizen the proud? 

Alas! they are all laid aside. 
And here's neither dress nor adornment al- 
lowed. 
But the long winding-sheet and the fringe 
of the shroud. 

To Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain: 
Who hid in their turn have been hid: 
The treasures are squandered again. 
And here in the grave are all metals for- 
bid, 
But the tinsel that shines on the dark cof- 
fin-lid. 



ii32 



TKEASURES OF POETRY. 



To the pleasures wliich Mirth can afford — 
The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? 

Ah! here is a plentiful board! 
But the guests are all mute as their piti- 
ful clieer, 
And none but the worm is a reveler here. 

Sliall we build to Affection and Love? 
Ah, no! tiiey have withered and died, 

Or fled witii the spirit above; 
Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side 

by side, 
Tet none have saluted, and none have re- 
plied. 

Unto Sorrow? The dead can not grieve; 
Not a sob, not a sigh, meets mine ear, 

Wliich compassion itself could relieve. 
Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, 

nor fear; 
Peace, peace is the watchword, the only 
one here! 

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must 
bow? 
Ah, no! for his empire is known, 

And here there are trophies enow! 
Beneath — the cold dead, and i-ound — the 

dark stone. 
Are the signs of a scepter that none may 
disown. 

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build. 
And look for the sleepers around us to rise; 
The second to Faith, which insures it ful- 
filled; 
And the third to the Lamb of the great sac- 
rifice, 
^Vho bequeathed us them both when he 
rose to the skies. 

HEBBEIIT KNOWLE.S. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 



[This poem has been called 
of the American conscience.'*] 



'the very heart-bejit 



Tell me not, in mournful numbers. 

Life is but an empty dream! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers. 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real! life is earnest! 

And the grave is not its goal; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow 
Is our destined end or way; 
But to act, that each tomorrow 
Find us further than today. 

Art is long, and time is fleeting. 

And our hearts, though stout and brave. 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 

Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle. 

In the bivouac of life. 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 

Be a hero in the strife! 



Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead past bury its dead! 
Act — act in the living present! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on tlie sand of time — 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate; 
Still achieving, still pursuing. 

Learn to labor and to wait. 

Henry Wadswortu Longfellow. 



CONSCIENCE AND FUTURE 

JUDGMENT. 

I sat alone with my conscience, 
In a place where time had ceR=ed, 

And we talked of my former living 

In the land where the years increased. 

And I felt I should have to answer 

The question it put to me. 
And to face the answer and question 

Throughout all eternity. 

The ghosts of forgotten actions 
Came floating before my sight. 

And things that I thought were dead things 
Were alive with a terrible might. 

And the vision of all ray past life 

Was an awful thing to face 
Alone with my conscience, sitting 

In that solemnly silent place. 

And I thought of a far-away warning. 
Of a sorrow that was to be mine. 

In a land that then was the future. 
But now is the present time. 

And I thought of my former tliinking 

Of the judgment-day to be, 
But sitting alone with my conscience 

Seemed judgment enough for me. 

And I wondered if there was a future 
To this land beyond the grave; 

But no one gave me an answer. 
And no one came to save. 

Then I felt that the future was present, 
And the present would never go by. 

For it was but the thought of my past life 
Grown into eternity. 

Then I woke from my timely dreaming, 
And the vision passed away,. 

And I knew the far-away warning 
Was a warning of yesterday. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 233 



And I iiray that I may ne'er forget it. 
In this land before the grave; 

That I may not cry in the future, 
And no one came to save- 

And so I have learned a lesson, 
Which I ougrht to have known before, 

And which, though I learned it in dreaming 
I hope to forget no more. 

So I sit alone with my conscience. 

In the place where the years increase, 

And I try to remember the future 
In the land where time shall cease; 

And I know of the future Judg:ment. 

How dreadful soe'er it be. 
That to sit alone with my conscience 

Will be judgrnent enoug-ji for me. 



THE SCULPTOR-BOY. 

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor-boy. 

With his marble block before him; 
And his face lit up with a smile of Joy 

As an ansel-dream passed o'er him. 
He carved that dream on the yielding stone 

With many a sharp incision: 
in Heaven's own light the sculptor shone — 

He had caught that angel-vision. 

Sculptors of life are we as we stand 

With our lives uncarved before us. 
Waiting the hour, when, at God's command. 

Our life-dream passes o'er us. 
Let us carve it, then, on the yielding stone. 

With many a sharp incision: 
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own — 

Our lives, that angel-vision. 

W. 0. DOA.NE. 



SAYINGS AND DOINGS. 

I sine; the hymn of the conquered, who fell 

in tlie battle of life — ■ 
The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who 

died overwhelmed in the strife; 
Not the jubilant song of the victors, from 

whom the resounding acclaim 
Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose 

brows wore the chaplet of fame; 
But the hymn of the low and the humble, 

the weary, the broken in heart, 
Who strove and who failed, acting bravely 

a silent and desperate part. 
Whose youth bore no flower in its branches, 

'Whose hopes burned in ashes away. 
From whose hands slipped the prize they 

had grasped at. who stood at the dy- 
ing of day 
With the work of their life all around 

them — unpitied, unheeded, alone, 
With death sweeping down o'er their fail- 
ure, and all but their faith overthrown. 
While the voice of the world shouts Its 

chorus, its paean for tho.se who have 

won; 



While the trumpet is sounding triumphant, 

and high to the breeze and the sun 
Gay banners are waving, hands clapping, 

with thousands of hurrying feet 
Thronging after the laurel-crowned vic- 
tors, I stand on the field of defeat. 
In the shadow, 'mongst those who are 

fallen and wounded and dying, and 

there 
Chant a requiem low, place my hand on 

their pain-knotted brows, breathe a 

prayer, 
Hold the hand that is hapless, and whisper: 

"They only the victory win 
,^^"^lO have fought the good fight, and have 

vanquished the demon that tempts us 

within; 
Who have held to their faith unseduced by 

the prize that the world holds on hiwh; 
W\io have dared for a high cause to suf- 
fer, resist, fight — if need be, to die." 
Speak, History! Who are life's victors? 

Unroll thy long annals and say. 
Are they those whom the world called the 

victors who won the success of a day? 
The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans who 

fell at Thermopylae's tryst. 
Or the Persians or Xerxes? His judges, 

or Socrates? Pilate, or Christ? 



THE L.4DDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 

Saint Augustine! well hast thou said. 
That of our vices we can frame 

A ladder, if we will but tread 

Beneath our feet each deed of shame. 

All common things, each day's events. 
That with the hour begin and end, 

Our pleasures and our discontents, 
Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The low desire, tlie base design, 

Tliat makes another's virtues less; 

The revel of tlie ruddy wine. 
And all occasions of excess; 

The longing for ignoble things; 

The strife for triumph more than truth; 
The hardening of the heart, that brings 

Irreverence for the dreams of youth; 

All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds. 

That have their root in thoughts of ill; 

W^hatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will, — 

All these rriust first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 

In the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we can not soar; 

But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The cloudy summits of our time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs. 



234 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



WUien nearer seen, and better known, 
Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear 
Their solid bastions to the slties, 

Are crossed by pathways, that appear 
As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and kept 
Were not attained by sudden flight; 

But they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night. 

Standing on what too long we bore 

With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, 

We may discern — unseen before — 
A path to higher destinies. 

Nor deem the irrevocable Past 
As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 

If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
To something nobler we attain. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



TWO LOVERS. 

Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: 

They leaned soft cheeks together there, 
Mingled the dark and sunny hair, 
And heard the wooing thrushes sing. 
O budding time! 
O love's best prime! 

Two wedded from the portal stept: 

The bells made happy carolings 

The air was soft as fanning wings, 

WHiite petals on the pathway slept. 

O pure-eyed bride! 

O tender pride! 

Two faces o'er a cradle bent: 

Two hands above the head were locked: 
These pressed each other while they 
rocked. 
Those watched a life that love had sent 
O solemn hour! 
O hidden power! 

Two parents by the evening fire: 
The red light fell about their knees 
On heads that rose by slow degrees 
Like buds upon the lily spire. 
O patient life! 
O tender strife! 

The two still sat together there, 

The red light shone about their knees; 
But all the heads by slow degrees 
Had gone and left that lonely pair. 
O voyage fast! 
O vanished past! 

The red light shone upon the floor. 

And made the space between them wide; 
They drew their chairs up side by side: 
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once 
more!" 

O memories! 
O past that is! 

Georgb Eliot. 



WHAT I LIVE FOR. 

I live for those who love me 

Whose hearts are kind and true; 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit too; 
For all human ties that bind me; 

For the task that God assigned me; 
For the bright hopes left behind me, 

And the good that I can do. 

I live to learn their story 

Who suffered for my sake; 
To emulate their glory, 

And follow in their wake; 
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages. 

The noble of all ages. 
Whose deeds crown history's pages. 

And Time's great volume make. 

I live to hold communion 

With all that is divine; 
To feel there is a union 

'Twixt nature's heart and mine; 
To profit by affliction. 

Reap truth from fields of fiction, 
Grow wiser from conviction. 

And fulfil each grand design. 
********* 

I live for those who love me, 

Who know me to be true; 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit too; 
For the cause that lacks assistance; 

For the wrong that needs resistance; 
For the future in the distance. 

And the good that I can do. 

G. Linnaeus Banks. 



THE BRIDGE. 

I stood on the bridge at midnight 
As the clocks were striking the hour. 

And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me. 
Like a golden goblet falling 

And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 

Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming furnace 

Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 

The wavering shadows lay. 
And the current that came from the ocean 

Seemed to lift and bear them away, 

As, sweeping and eddying through them. 

Rose the belated tide. 
And, streaming into the moonlight. 

The seaweed floated wide. 

And like those waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts came o'er me. 

That filled my eyes with tears. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION!— Life, Time, Anticipation. 235 



How often, oh, how often. 

In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
And gazed on that wave and sky! 

How often, oh, how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 

Would bear me away on its bosom 
O'er the ocean wild and wide! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me; 

It is buried in tlie sea; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care-encumbered men, 
£ach bearing his burden of sorrow 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro — 
The young heart hot and restless. 

And the old subdued and slow! 

And forever and forever. 

As long as the river flows, 
As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes. 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven. 
And its wavering image here. 

Henhy Wadsworth Longfellow. 



HUMANITY. 

[From 'The Winter Walks at Noon."] 

I would not enter on my list of friends 
(Though graced with polished manners and 

fine sense, 
Tet wanting sensibility) the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
That crawls at evening in the public path: 
But he that has humanity, forewarned, 
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. 
And charged perhaps with venom, that in- 
trudes, 
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 
Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 
The chamber, or refectorj', may die; 
A necessary act incurs no blame. 
Not so when, held within their proper 

bounds. 
And guiltless of offense they range the air. 
Or take their pastime in the spacious field: 



There they are privileged; and he that hunts 
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, 
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm. 
Who, when she formed, designed them an 

abode. 
The sum is this: If man's convenience, 

health. 
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims 
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are all — the meanest things that 

are — 
As free to live, and to enjoy that life. 
As God was free to form them at the first, 
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them 

all. 
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your 

sons 

To love it too. WILLLIM COWPEK. 



MAN. 

[From • '.Night TUoughts.") 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how au- 
gust. 

How complicate, how wonderful, is man! 

How passing wonder He who made him 
such! 

Who centered in our make such strange 
extremes. 

From different natures marvelously mixed. 

Connection exquisite of distant worlds! 

Distinguished link in being's endless chain! 

Midway from nothing to the Deity! 

.\ beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt! 

Though sullied and dislionored, still divine! 

Dim miniature of greatness absolute! 

An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! 

Helpless immortal! insect infinite! 

.\ worm! a god! — I tremble at myself. 

And in myself am lost. At home a stranger, 

Thought wanders up and down, surprised, 
aghast, 

.\nd wondering at her own. How reason 
reels! 

Oh, what a miracle to man is man! 

Triumphantly distressed! 'WTiat joy! what 
dread! 

.alternately transported and alarmed! 

^Tiat can preserve my life? or what de- 
stroy? 

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the 
grave ; 

Legions of angels can't confine me there. 

Edwabd Young. 



EARTH. 

Earth is a battle-ground 
WTiere good and ill are fighting still 
For many a noble youth and older one. 
Whose shall the conquest be when life's 
wild strife is done? 

Earth is a forest wide, 
Where pain and joy, with much alloy. 
Like light and shade among the hanging: 
trees, 



236 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Come over each, to fit for brigliter scenes 
than these. 

Earth is a seeding:- time; 
And all who will the heart may fill 
■With noble thoughts that, springing forth, 

shall show 
A yield of joy more bounteous than eartli 

can know. 

Eartli is a harvest-field, 
"VThere golden sheaves and only leaves 
-\re ripening in the world's autumn sun. 
T\T)at will the harvest be when winter's 
blasts shall come? 

Earth is a resting-place 
For infants sweet, and weary feet 
That tread no more the tangled path of life, 
But, sinking down in death, have yielded 
up the strife. 

Eartli is a burial-place 
Of hopes and fears and heartfelt tears; 
And the lone wanderer on this mundane sod 
Finds satisfaction only when he lives for 
God. 

Mrs. EMILT H. HiFFOKD. 



THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 

Faintly flow, thou falling river, 

Like a dream that dies away; 
Down to ocean gliding ever. 

Keep thy calm unruffled way: 
Time with such a silent motion. 

Floats along, on wings of air. 
To eternity's dark ocean. 

Burying all its treasures tliere. 

Roses bloom, and then they wither; 

Cheeks are bright, then fade and die; 
Shapes of light are wafted hither, 

Tlien, like visions, liurry by: 
Quick as clouds at evening driven 

O'er the many-colored west. 
Tears are bearing us to heaven. 

Home of liappiness and rest. 

.Tames O. Peroival 



VAGUE HOPES OF NATURE. 

Hope springs eternal in the human breast 
Man never is, but always to be blest. 
The sott.l. uneasy and confined from home. 
Rests and expatiates in a world to comf 
Lo, tlie poor IndianI whose untutored mir<l 
.''ees God in clouds, or hears liim in tho 

wind; 
His soul proud Science never taught to 

stray 
Far as the solar walk or milky way; 
Tet simple nature to his hope has given. 
Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler 

heaven — • 
Some safer world in depth of woods em- 
braced, 
Some happier island in the watery waste, 



■V\'here slaves once more their native lanO 

behold, 
Xo friends torment, no Christians thirst -/or 

gold. 
To be, contents his natural desire; 
He asks no angel's wings, no seraph's fire; 
But thinks, admitted to that eciual sky. 
His faithful dog shall bear him company. 

.\LESAXDES PorB. 



IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 

Is life worth living? Yes, so long 

As spring revives the year. 
And hails us witli the cuckoo's song. 

To show that she is here; 
So long as May or April takes 

In smiles and tears farewell. 
And windflowers dapple all the brakes. 

And primroses the dell: 
And children in the woodlands yet 

Adorn their little laps 
With lady's-mock and violet, 

And daisy-chain their caps; 
While over orchard dafl'odils 

Cloud-shadows float and fleet. 
And ouzel pipes and laverock trills, 

-Vnd young lambs buck and bleat; 
So long as that whicli bursts the bud. 

And swells and tunes tlie rill, 
Makes springtime in the maiden's blood — 

Life is worth living still. 

Life not worth livingl Come with me. 

Xow that through vanishing veil, 
Shimmers tlie dew on lawn and lea. 

.A.nd milk foams in the pail: 
Xow that June's sweltering sunlight bathes 

With sweat the striplings lithe. 
As fall the long, straight, scented swathes 

Over the rhythmic scythe; 
Xow that tlie throstle never stops 

His self-sufficing strain. 
And woodbine-trails festoon tlie copse. 

And eglantine the lane: 
Xow rustic labor seems as sweet 

As leisure, and blithe herds 
Wend homeward with unweary feet. 

Carolling like the birds; 
Xow all, except the lover's vow. 

And nightingale, is still; 
Here, in the starlit hour, allow. 

Life is worth living still. 

When summer, lingering half-forlorn. 

On autumn loves to lean. 
And fields of slowly yellowing corn 

-Are girt by woods still green; 
WHien hazelnuts wax brown and plump. 

And apples rosy-red. 
And the owlet hoots from hollow stump, 

.\nd the dormouse makes its bed; 
^^^len crammed are all the granary floors. 

And the hu.nter's moon is bright. 
And life again is sweet indoors. 

And logs again alight; 
Aye, even wlien the liouseless wind 

Waileth through cleft and chink, 
And in the twilight maids grow kind. 

And jugs are filled and clink: 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 237 



When children clasp their hands and pray, 

"Be done Thy heavenly will:" 
Who doth not lift his voice and say, 

"Life is worth living still"? 

Is life worth living? Yes, to long 

As there is wrong to riglit, 
Wail of the weak a^-ainst the strong, 

Or tyranny to fight; 
Long as there lingers gloom to chase. 

Or streaming tear to dry, 
One kindred woe, one sorrowing face 

That smiles as we draw nigh; 
Long as a tale of anguish swells 

The heart and lids grow wet. 
And at the sound of Christmas bells 

We pardon and forget; 
So long as faith with freedom reigns. 

And loyal hope survives. 
And gracious charity remains 

To leaven lowly lives; 
WTiile there is one untrodden tract 

For intellect or will. 
And men are free to think and act, — 

Life is worth living still. 

Alfred Austin. 



ELEG^' 



IX A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD. 



[Thomas Gra.v was bom in London, 1716. He was 
a man who wrote little, but that little was polisbe<l 
to the highest degree. His "Elegy" has been said to 
be "for it.-i size the most popular poem ever writti n 
in any language," Every line, every word, even ever.v 
s.vllable was a subject of long-continued painstakin;; 
stud.v. On the memor;ible night preceding the taking 
of Quebec, in the French and Indian War. General 
Wolfe repeated some stanzas of the "Elegy." One 
of them was the ninth, which closes with the line. 
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave." He then 
said to his companions in arms. "I would rather be 
the author of that pix*m than to have the glory of 
beating the French tomorrow." Perhaps he did not 
realize bow prophetic was the stanza referred to. He 
was at that moment in the path of glory, and in the 
day about to dawn it led to the grave.] 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; 

The plowman homeward plods his weary 

way. 

And leaves the world to darkness and to 

me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the 
sight. 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant 
folds; 

Save that from yonder ivy-raantl^d tower. 
The moping owl does to the moon com- 
plain 
Of such as. wandering near her secret 
bower. 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's 
shade. 
XMiere heaves the turf in many a molder- 
ing heap. 



Each in his narrow cell forever laid. 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 
The swallow twittering from the straw- 
built shed. 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
Xo more shall rouse them from their 
lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing heartli shall 

burn. 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return. 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to 

share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; 
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has 
broke; 
How jocund did they drive their team 
a-field! 
How bowed the woods beneath their 
sturdy strokel 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure, 

Xor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldrj-, the pomp of power. 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er 
gave. 

Await alike the inevitable hour; 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the 
fault. 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
raise. 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and 
fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of 
praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting 
breath? 
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of 
Death? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
fire; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have 
swayed. 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page. 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er 
unroll; 
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage. 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene. 
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



338 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless 

breast. 

The littls tyrant of his fields withstood; 

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's 

blood. 

The applause of listening senates to com- 
mand, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone 

Tlieir growing virtues, but their crimes 

confined: 

Forbade to wade througli slaughter to a 

throne. 

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to 

liide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous 

shame. 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray; 

Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their 
way. 

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncoutli rliymes and shapeless sculp- 
ture decked. 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by the un- 
lettered muse. 

The place of fame and elegy supply; 
And many a holy text around slie strews. 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey. 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned. 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful 
day. 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look be- 
hind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul re- 
lies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 
Even from the tomb the voice of nature 
cries. 
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored 
dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale re- 
late; 
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led. 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of 
dawn 

Brushing witli Iiasty steps the dews away. 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 



There at the foot of yonde"" nodding beech, 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so 

high. 

His listless length at noontide would he 

stretch. 

And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would 
rove: 
Now drooping, woful, wan, like one for- 
lorn. 
Or crazed witli care, or tossed in hope- 
less love. 

One morn I missed hira on the customed 
hill. 
Along the heath and near his favorite 
tree; 
Another came — nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 

The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 
Slow through the church-way path we see 
him borne: 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) 
the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged 
thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, 
A youth, to Fortune and to Fame un- 
known; 
Fair Science frowned not on liis humble 
birth. 
And Melancholy marked liim for her own. 

Large was liis bounty, and his soul sincere; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 
He gave to Misery (all he had) a tear; 

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he 
wished) a friend. 

No further seek his merits to disclose. 
Or draw his frailties from their dread 
abode 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose). 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 
Thomas Gray. 



TO BE OR NOT TO BE. 

Tliere's a spot on the bank o'er the roadside 

'Neatli an old tree where often I go 
To repose on its moss-covered surface, 

Or to gaze on tiie meadow below. 
In the evening I oftentimes wander 

To that lonely and beautiful spot, 
And over life's fancies I ponder 

^VhiIe all present cares are forgot. 

One day as I lay in the shadows 
Enjoying the light summer air, 

A drowsiness gathered around me. 

And strange visions greeted me there. 

Methought there stepped down from the 
branches 
A spirit from out of the wood. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— .Life, Time, Anticipation. 239 



Who took from his bosom a pamphlet 
As before me in silence lie stood. 

I scarcely had time to behold it. 

Or think what his errand might be, 
Before he began to unfold it, 

And said, "I've a message for thee." 
At these words my anxious heart fluttered 

And filled up with wonder and dread. 
As I thought on the message he uttered 

While to me these quaint words he read: 

"From this time hence forward, O mortal! 

It shall not be given to man 
To enter the heavenly portal, 

Nor the gulf of division to span; 
But to you your clioice shall be given 

When death comes his harvest to reap, 
To live o'er the life thou hast liven 

Or to lie down forever to sleep." 

At this the strange spirit departed, 

As to me these last words he spoke, 
But the thoughts that his message imparted 

Still haunted me as I awoke. 
I wondered, does life's Joy and pleasure 

Make up for its sorrow and tears? 
Would we grasp at life's form as a treas- 
ure. 

Or shrink when its presence appears? 

Would we fall like the oak in the forest 

Decaying, to lie on the ground, 
The spirit alike with the body. 

Each sharing the one common mound? 
Or drop to the earth like the acorn 

And start a new life as before — 
To spring back again into childhood 

And renew our memories of yore? 

Would we take up the burden of trials. 

Contentedly carry them through, 
Rather than lie in inaction 

Forgetting the pleasures we knew? 
Yes, man, with no show of resistance 

Would travel the voyage once more, 
Were it not that we see in the distance 

A brighter life just on before. 

T. W. Cabmichael. 



THE WEB OF LIFE. 

A beautiful piece of patches and shreds — 
But stay your passionate grieving — 

Is it late to pick up the broken threads 
And change the pattern of weaving? 

The warp was dyed in the wool and drawn 
To the loom without your willing; 

But the shuttle that flies from dawn to dawn 
Carries the thread of your filling. 

The fabric of life by which you are known 
Is not, perhaps, of your choosing; 

But the matter which gives it light and tone 
la the color you are using. 

Over the dingy ancestral dyes. 

Over and under, and over, 
Tho gold of your shuttle tints as it flies 

The blemish it may not cover. 



Forward and onward, you may not pause 
In your own work disbelieving; 

For still by the force of its unseen laws 
The loom goes on with its weaving. 

And your inmost thought is caught in the 
snare 

By a law that no man knoweth; 
And your purpose, be it false or fair, 

Shows the web, as it groweth. 

Well for you, and well for us all, sweet 

friend, 
Wlien, at last, our shuttles falter, 
If the weavers beginning where we end 
Find naught in the pattern to alter. 



LIFE S MYSTERY. 

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you"; 

Weep, and the world weeps, too: 
'Tis all as you take it, brother; 

You pave your own patliway through — 

Pave it with woes and sorrows, 
With sighs and drops of grief. 

Or with onyx stones of gladness 
And ruby smiles of relief; 

Pave it with sunshin golden 

Or densest hues of night. 
With stnrm-clouds dark of anguish 

Or silver stars of light. 

Pause not to mourn o'er the failures 
You made on yesterday; 
The while you are sadly weeping, 
The present you trifle away. 

The smoothest and brightest diamond 
Was once but tlie roughest stone, 

And the rose of rarest splendor 
From the meanest sod has grown. 

Thus the deepest and richest blessing 
Comes oft from the bitterest woe, 

And a life of heavenly beauty 

From the lowliest place may grow. 

The darkest hour of the night-time 

Betokens the coming dawn, 
And tlie briglitest and warmest sunshine 

Comes after the rain is gone. 

Would you but gather roses. 
And shun the pricking thorn? 

Have all thy dawnings cheerful 
With never a cloud.v morn? 

Ah! life is whate'er you make it: 
Bid sadness and grief depart, 

And the world shall be filled with music. 
Begun in thy trusting heart; 

Rejoice, and the world around you 

The cheeriest smile will wear; 
Bow 'neath thy heavy burdens. 
And the world is filled with care. 



240 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Then forth to thy duty, brother, 

Xor falter for wind or tide. 
What matter how dark the storm-clouds? 

There's always a brighter side. 

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you"; 

Weep, and the world weeps, too: 
'Tis all as you take it, brother; 

You pave your own pathway through. 

Clara M. Bkooks. 



WHAT IS LIFE? 



little crib beside the bed; 

little face upon the spread; 

little shoe upon the floor; 

little frock behind the door; 

little lad with curly hair; 

little blue-eyed face and fair; 

little lane that leads to school; 

little pencil, slate, and rule; 

little winsome, blithesome maid; 

little hand within his laid; 

little family gathering round; 

little turf -heaped, tear-dewed mound; 

little cottage, acres four; 

little old-time household store; 

little added to his soil; 

little rest from hardest toil; 

little silver in his hair; 

little stool and an easy chair; 

little night of earth-lit gloom; 

little cortege to the tomb. 
W« say "Good day" at early dawn; 
We smile when li:tle baby's born; 
We laugh all through the sunshine bright; 
When life is done, we say, "Good night." 



TO A SKELETON. 

[The manuscript of this poem was fouDf! near a 
perfect human skeleton. Every effort was made to 
ascertain its origin : but it seems the author pre- 
served his incognito and has never been discovered. ] 

Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull 
Once of ethereal spirit full. 
This narrow cell was Life's retreat. 
This space was Thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot? 
What dreams of pleasure, long forgot? 
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear. 
Have left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this moldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye, 

But start not at the dismal void — . 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless tire it gleamed. 

But through the dews of kindness beamed. 

That eye shall he forever bright 

Wlien stars and sun are sunk in night. 

Within this hollow cavern hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tong:ue; 

If Falsehood's honey it disdained. 

And when it could not praise was chained; 

If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke. 

Yet gentle concord never broke, — 



Tliis silent tongue shall plead for thee 
When Time unveils Eternity! 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine? 
Or with the envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear a gem 
Can little now avail to them. 
But if the page of Trutli they sought. 
Or comfort to the mourner brought, 
Tliese hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the paths of duty trod? 
If from the bowers of Ease they fled, 
To seek Affliction's humble shed; 
If Grandeur's guilty bride tliey spurned, 
And home to Virtue's cot returned, — 
These feet with angel- wings shall vie. 
And tread the palace of the sky! 



LIFE S GOLDEN GOBLET. 

A golden goblet each man holds. 

Its contents energy, 
And how we use this rare wine molds 

Our endless destiny. 

No life so mean but holds tliis pow'r — 
Oh, wondrous, priceless draught! 

■While hour by hour men ever pour 
It forth, and prize it not. 

Wiiatever way this vital force 

Is used, results obtain; 
For we may bring forth fruit perforce 

Of weeds or perfect grain. 

Some choose to spill this golden wine 

On fleeting things of time. 
Nor realize the gift's divine. 

And life a charge sublime. 

Then wisely pour the nectar forth; 

The greatest good secure 
From deeds that have the higiiest worth 

And ever shall endure. 

Seek not for deepest soul content 
From earthly sources, then. 

But let your choicest force be spent 
In doing good to men. 

Nellih Olson, 



IF I MAY HELP. 

If I may help some burdened heart 

His heavy load to hear; 
If any little song of mine 

May cheer a soul somewhere; 
If I may lead some grieving one 

To know that loss is gain, 
Or bring some shadowed soul to light.- 

I shall not live In vain. 

If I may help bewildered ones 
To find life's grandest clue; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 241 



If I may steady faltering feet, 
Or help some heart be true: 

If I may brinjj a tender touch 
To some lone couch of pain, 

Or whisper words of hope and strength,- 
I shall not live in vain. 

If I may give disheartened ones 

The impetus they need, 
Or rescue the oppressed from hands 

Of cruelty and greed; 
If I may bring concord and love 

\\Tiera strife and hatred reign. 
Or be a friend to friendless ones, — 

I shall not live in vain. 

If I may battle some great wrong, 

Some worldly current stem. 
Or give a hand of fellowship 

Where other hearts condemn; 
If I grow strong to do and bear 

Amid life's stress and strain, 
And keep a pure heart everywhere. — 

I shall not live in vain. 

If I may give forth sympathy. 

And keep a heart of youth, 
Or help myself and fellow men 

To grander heights of truth; 
However small my part may be. 

To cleanse the world of stain, 
If I but do the thing I can, — 

I shall not live in vain. 



THE BUILDERS. 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these walls of Time; 

Some with massive deeds and great. 
Some with ornaments of rhyme. 

Nothing useless is, or low; 

Each thing in its place is best; 
And what seems but idle show 

Strengthens and supports the rest. 

For the structure that we raise. 
Time is with materials filled. 

Our todays and yesterdays 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion these; 

Leave no yawning gaps between; 
Think not, l)ecause no man sees. 

Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder days of Art, 

Builders wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part; 

For the gods see everywhere. 

Let us do our work as well. 
Both the unseen and the seen; 

Make the house, where gods may dwell. 
Beautiful, entire, and clean. 

Else our lives are incomplete. 
Standing in these walls of Time, 



Broken stairways, where tlie feet 
Stumble as they seek to climb. 

Build today, then, strong and sure, 
With a firm and ample base; 

And ascending and secure 
Shall tomorrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets where the eye 

Sees the world as one vast plain. 
And one boundless reach of sky. 

HE.NEV WaDSWOETH LONGFELLOW. 



LIFE. 

What is life? 'Tis but a vapor 

That remains but one brief day; 
Though our hands are stretched to stay it, 

It must quickly pass away. 
Fleeting are its joys and gladness. 

Though we fain would hold them fast; 
Nothing lingers save a memory 

Of the things that now are past. 

Yet our life is what we make it. 

More than what our lot may be — 
Mild and gentle, sweet and loving. 

Like a sunbeam all may see; 
Or it may be hard and bitter. 

Filled with envy, hate, and woe, 
Seeking only vain self-glory. 

As we tread our path below. 

If our motive be to lighten 

Other souls oppressed by care. 
We shall find that our own burdens 

Are made easier to bear. 
If to shed on those around us. 

Gleams of hope to cheer them on. 
We behold those rays, reflected. 

Turn our darkness into dawn. 

Life is not a dream of fancy. 

Not a worthless stretch of years 
To be squandered in our folly. 

Then to end in bitter tears; 
But a time for earnest striving 

For the right, the good, the true. 
Helping every one around us. 

Cheering hearts our journey through. 

Life is full of deepest meaning. 

Hidden 'neath the gilded dross; 
But its depth is only fathomed 

In the shadow of the Cross. 
Could we feel that every action. 

Every thought and word, would be 
Witness for or 'gainst our spirits 

Throughout all eternity: 

Could we realize the weight of 

Each day's work for good or bad, — 
Would our consciences acquit us? 

Would the knowledge make us glad? 
Or that voice within the bosom. 

Would it speak but to condemn 
For the life and the example 

Lived before our fellow men? 



242 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Life means much, and could we value 

Every moment as it speeds 
On so quickly past recalling, 

Would we spend in evil deeds 
Days and months to us so precious, 

Time we can not value now 
As we shall when life is ebbing. 

And death's dew is on our brow? 

When we near that dark, cold river. 

Shall we look back with regret 
On a life far worse than wasted, 

That we wish we might forget? 
Noble deeds and brave endeavor 

Bring no pangs in coming days; 
Evil has its own requital; 

Folly ends in sorrow's ways. 

Life is more than mere existing. 

Drifting aimlessly along. 
Yielding to each flitting fancy, 

"^liether it be right or wrong; 
We are building, daily building 

For the ages that shall be. 
And the structure we are rearing 

Shall abide eternally. 

'Tis our future selves we're building, 

And our work will surely stand 
Through unceasing ages ever, 

"VMiether it be vile or .grand; 
Build, then, wisely for tomorrow: 

With today thy work is done; 
Haste thou, lest the good intended, 

At the eve be not begun. 

C. W. Natlor. 



GRADATION. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound: 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From tlie lowly earth to the vaulted skies. 

And we mount to the summit round by 
round. 

I count this thing to be grandly true. 
That a noble deed is a step toward God, 
Lifting the soul from the common sod 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

We rise by things that are under our feet; 
By what we have mastered of good and 

gain; 
By the pride deposed and the passion 
slain. 
And the vanquished ills that we hourly 
meet 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust. 
When the morning calls us to life and 

light: 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the 
night 
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. 

W^e hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray. 
And we think that we mount the air on 
win.g3, « 

Beyond the recall of sensual things. 

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 



Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 

From the weary earth to the sapphire 

walls; 
But the dreams depart, and the vision 
falls, 
^nd the sleeper awakes on his pillow of 
stone. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound; 
But we build the ladder by whicli we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to the summit round by 
round. 

JOSIAH GiLBEBT HOLLAND. 



HOW TO LIVE. 

He liveth long who liveth well; 

All other life is short and vain: 
He liveth longest who can tell 

Of living most for heavenly gain. 

He liveth long who liveth well; 

All else is being flung away: 
He liveth longest who can tell 

Of true things truly done each day. 

Waste not thy bei«g; back to Him 
Who freely gave it, freely give: 

Else is that being but a dream; 
'Tis but to be, and not to live. 

Be what thou seemest; live thy creed; 

Hold up to earth the torch divine; 
Be what tliou prayest to be made; 

Let the great Master's steps be thine. 

Fill up each hour with what will last; 

Buy up the moments as they go: 
The life above, when this is past. 

Is tlie ripe fruit of life below. 

Sow truth, if thou the true wouldst reap; 

Who sows the false shall reap the vain; 
Erect and sound thy conscience keep: 

From hollow words and deeds refrain. 

Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure; 

Sow peace, and reap its harvests bright; 
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor. 

And find a harvest-home of light. 

HOEATICS BONAB. 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 

'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now 
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er 
The still and pulseless world. Hark! on 

the winds. 
The bell's deep tones are swelling; 'tis the 

knell 
Of the departed year. No funeral train 
Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and 

wood, 
With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest 
Like a pale, spotless shroud: the air is 

stirred. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— -Life, Time, Anticipation. 24.3 



As by a mourner's siffh; and on yon cloud 
That floats so still and placidly through 

heaven. 
The spirits of the Seasons seem to stand — 
Toung: Spring, briglit Summer, Autumn's 

solemn form. 
And Winter, with his aged locks — and 

breatlie 
In mournful cadences, that come abroad 
Like the far wind-harps wild and touching 

wail, 
A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year, 
Gone from the earth forever. 'Tis a time 
For memory and for tears. Within the deep 
Still chambers of the heart, a specter dim, 
WTiose tones are like the wizard voice of 

Time, 
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 
And solemn finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions that have passed away 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 
On the dead waste of life. The specter lifts 
The coffin-lid of Hope and Joy and Love, 
And, bending mournfully above the pale. 
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters 

dead flowers. 
O'er what has passed to nothingness. The 

year 
Has gone and with it many a glorious 

throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow. 
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift 

course 
It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful. 
And they are not; it laid its pallid hand 
Upon the strong man, and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim; 
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 
The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail 
Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the 

song 
And reckless shout resounded; it passed o'er 
The battle-plain, where sword and spear 

and shield 
Flashed in the light of midday, and the 

strength 
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass. 
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 
The crushed and moldering skeleton. It 

came. 
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; 
Tet ere it melted in the viewless air, 
It heralded its millions to their home. 
In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless 

Time! 
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe! 'ttTiat 

power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron heart to pity! On, still on 
He presses, and forever. The proud bird. 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or 

brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's 

home. 
Furls his broad wing at night-fall, and 

sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain-crag; but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 



And Night's deep darkness has no chain to 

bind 
His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep 
O'er earth like troubled visions o'er the 

breast 
Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink 
Like bubbles on the water; flery isles 
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back 
To their mj'sterious caverns; mountains 

rear 
To heaven tlieir bold and blackened clifCs, 

and bow 
Their tall heads to the plain; and empires 

rise. 
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries. 
And rush down, like the Alpine avalanche. 
Startling the nations; and the very stars, 
Yon briglit and glorious blazonry of God, 
Glitter a while in their eternal depths, 
And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, 
Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass 

away 
To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time, 
Time the tomb-builder, holds his fierce ca- 
reer. 
Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his 

path. 
To sit and muse, like other conquerors. 
Upon that fearful ruin he hath wrought. 
George D. riiENTicE. 



THE LONG AGO. 

Oh! a wonderful stream is the river of 
Time 
As it runs through the realm of tears, 
"\^^th a faultless rhythm and a musical 

rh y me. 
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime. 
As it blends in the ocean of years! 

How the winters are drifting like flakes of 

snow. 
And the summers like birds between, 
And the years in the sheaf, how they come 

and the.v go 
On the river's breast, with its ebb and its 

flow. 
As it glides in the shadow and sheen! 

There's a magical isle up the river Time, 
Where the softest of airs are playing; 
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, 
And a song as sweet as a vesper cliime, 
And the Junes with the roses are stray- 
ing. ■ 

And the name of this isle is the "Long 
Ago," 
And we bury our treasures tliere: 
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of 

snow; 
There are heaps of dust — oh! we loved them 
so — ■ 
There are trinkets and tresses of hair; 

There are fragments of songs that nobody 
sings; 



244 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



There are parts of an infant's prayer; 
There's a lute unswept and a harp withoutT 

strings; 
There are brolten vows and pieces of rings; 

And the garments our loved used to wear. 

There are hands that are waved when the 
fairy shore 
By the fitful mirage is lifted in air, 
And we sometimes hear through the turbu- 
lent roar 
Sweet voices we heard in the days gone 
before, 
When the wind down the river was fair. 

Oh ! remembered aye be that blessed isle, 

All the day of our life until night; 
And when evening glows with its beautiful 

smile, 
And our eyes are closing in slumbers a 
while. 
May a lovelier isle be in sight. 

BEN.rAMiN P. Taylor. 



FAITH AND HOPE. 

Oh, don't be sorrowful, darling! 

Now, don't be sorrowful, pray; 
For, taking the year together, my dear, 

There isn't more night than day. 
It's rainy weather, my loved one; 

Time's wheels they heavily run; 
But taking the year together, my dear. 

There isn't more cloud than sun. 

We're old folks now, companion; 

Our heads they are growing gray; 
But taking the year all round, my dear. 

You always will find the May. 
We've had our May, my darling. 

And our roses, long ago; 
And the time of the year is come, my dear, 

For the long dark nights and the snow- 
But God is God, my faithful. 

Of night as well as of day; 
And we feel and know that we can go 

Wherever he leads the way. 
Ay, God of night, my darling! 

Of the night of death so grim; 
And the gate that from life leads out, good 
wife. 

Is the gate that leads to Him. 

Rembrandt Pealb. 



ANTICIPATIONS. 

O thou great Movement of the Universe, 
Or Change or Flight of Time — for ye are 

one 
That bearest, silently, this visible scene 
Into night's shadow and the streaming rays 
Of starlight — whither art thou bearing me? 
I feel the mighty current sweep me on. 
Yet know not whither man foretells afar 
The courses of the stars; the very hour 
He knows when they shall darken or grow 
bright; 



Yet doth the eclipse of sorrow and of death 
Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I 

love. 
Shall pass from life, or, sadder yet, shall 

fall 
From virtue? Strife with foes, or bitterer 

strife 
With friends, or shame and general scorn 

of men — • 
Which who can bear? — or the fierce rack of 

pain. 
Lie they within my path? Or shall the years 
Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace. 
Into the stilly twilight of my age? 
Or do the portals of another life 
Even now while I am glorying in my 

strength. 
Impend around me? Oh! beyond that bourne. 
In the vast cycle of being which begins 
At that broad threshold, with what fairer 

forms 
Shall the great law of change and progress 

clothe 
Its workings? Gently, so have good men 

taught. 
Gently, and without grief, the old shall 

glide 
Into the new; the eternal flow of things. 
Like a bright river of the fields of heaven. 
Shall journey onward in perpetual peace. 
William Cpllkn Bryant. 



TIME: AN ODE. 

I see the chariot, wliere. 
Throughout the purple air. 

The forelocked monarch rides: 
Armed like some antique vehicle for war. 
Time, hoary Time! I see thy scythed oar 
In voiceless majesty 

Cleaving the clouds of ages that float by 
And change their many-colored sides. 
Now dark, now dun, now richly bright. 
In ever-varying light. 
The great, the lowly, and the brave 

Bow down before the rushing force 
Of thine uncontjuerable course; 
Thy wheels are noiseless as the grave. 
Yet fleet as Heaven's red bolt they hurry on; 
They pass above us and are gone! 

Clear is the track which thou hast past; 
Strewed with the wrecks of frail re- 
nown 
Robe, scepter, banner, wreath, and 
crown. 
The pathway that before thee lies. 
An indistinguishable waste. 

Invisible to human eyes. 
Which fain would scan the various shapes 
which glide 
In dusky cavalcade, 
Imperfectly descried, 

Through that intense, impenetrab/e 
.shade. 

Four gray steeds thy chariot draw; 
In the obdurate, tameless jaw 

Their rusted iron bits they sternly champ; 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 



245 



Te may not hear the echoing tramp 
Of their light-bounding, windy feet, 
Upon that cloudy pavement beat. 
Four wings have each, which, far outspread. 

Receive the many blasts of heaven. 
As with ujiwearied speed. 

Throughout the long extent of ether 
driven, 
Thy voice, thou mighty Charioteer! 
Always sounding ' in their ear, 
Throughout the gloom o. night and heat of 
day. 

Fast behind thee follows Death, 

Through the ranks of wan and weeping, 
That yield their miserable breath. 

On with his pallid courser proudly sweep- 
ing. 
Armed is he in full mail, 

Bright breastplate and high crest. 

Nor is the trenchant falchion wanting. 
So fiercely does he ride the gale. 

On Time's dark car, before him, rest 
The dew-drops of his charger's panting. 
On, on they go along the boundless skies; 

All human grandeur fades away 
Before their flashing, fiery, hollow eyes; 
Beneath the terrible control 
Of those vast armed orbs, which roll 
Oblivion on the creatures of a day. 
Those splendid monuments alone he spares, 

■Wliich, to her deathless votaries. 
Bright Fame, with glowing hand, uprears 
Amid the waste of countless years. 
"Live yel" to these he crieth ; "live! 
To ye eternity I give — 
Te, upon whose blessed birth 

The noblest star of heaven hath shone. 
Live, when the ponderous pyramids of earth 

Are crumbling in oblivion! 
Live, when, wrapt in sullen shade. 
The golden hosts of heaven shall fade! 
Live, when yon gorgeous sun on high 
Shall veil the sparkling of his eye! 
Live, when imperial Time and Death him- 
self shall die!" 

Alfbed Tenntson. 



SAINTLY SYMPATHY. 

■When once we close our eyes in death, 

And flesh and spirit sever; 
VThen earth and fatherland and home, 
With all their beauty, sink in gloom,— 

Say, will it be forever? 

Shall we, in heaven, no more review 
Those scenes from which we sever? 

Or will our recollection leap 

O'er death's dark gulf, at times, to keep 
■With earth acquaintance ever? 

In life we loved the blessed past; 

It clings upon us ever; 
The songs of childhood and of home. 
Like music when the minstrel's gone, 

Live in our iiearts forever. 

The child's included in the man. 
And part of him forever; 



The Past still in the Future lives 
And basis to its being gi 
Xot it, but of it, ever! 



OUR LIVES. 

Our lives are songs; God writes the words. 

And we set them to music at pleasure; 
And the song grows glad, or sweet, or sad. 

As we choose to fashion the measur<?. 
We must write the music, whatever the 
song. 

Whatever its rhyme or meter; 
And if it is glad, we may make it sad. 

Or if sweet, we may make it sweeter. 



THE EVENING BELLS. 

Those evening bells! those evening bells! 
How many a tale their music tells 
Of youth and home and tliat sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime. 

Those joyous hours are passed away; 
And many a heart that then was gay. 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells. 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 'twill bH when I am gone; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 
■Rlille other bards shall walk the.se dells. 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells! 

Thomas Mooee. 



ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your 

flight. 
Make me a child again just for tonight! 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore. 
Take me again to your heart as of yore; 
Kiss from my forehead the furrov.s of care 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my 

hair; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep: 
Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep! 

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the 

years! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears^ 
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain — 
Take them, and give me my childhood 

again! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay. 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away, 
Weary of sowing for others to reap: 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to sleep t 

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue. 
Mother, O Mother, my heart calls for you! 
Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed and faded, our faces between: 
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate 

pain. 
Long I tonight for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so long and so deep; 
Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep! 



246 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



0"ei- my heart, in tlie days that are flown, 
No love like mother-love ever has shone; 
No other worship abides and endures — 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours: 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary 

brain. 
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids 

creep; 
Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep! 

Come let your brown hair, just lighted with 

gold. 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old; 
Let it drop over my forehead tonight. 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once 

more 
Haply will throng the sv.'eet visions of yore; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep: 
Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep! 

Mother, dear Mother, the years have been 

long 
Since I last hushed to your lullaby song; 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. 
With your light lashes just sweeping my 

face. 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep — 
Rock me to sleep. Mother, rock me to sleep! 
Elizabeth Akebs Allen. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

Wlien the hours of day are numbered, 
And the voices of the night 

Wake the better snul, that slumbered. 
To a holy, calm delight; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted. 

And. like phantoms grim and tall. 
Shadows from the fitful firelight 

Dance upon the parlor wall, — 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door: 
The beloved, the true-hearted. 

Come to visit me once more: 

He, the young and strong who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 

By the roadside fell and perished. 
Weary with the march of life! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Wlio the cross of suffering bore. 
Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more! 

And with them the being beauteous, 
Mlio unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me. 
Lays her gentle hand in mine; 



And she sits and gazes at me 
With tliose deep and tender eyes. 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended. 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer. 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended. 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely. 

All my fears are laid aside. 
If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died! 

HeNKYT ■WiDSWORTH LoxorBLLOW. 



WHO WILL CARE? 

Who will care? 
Wlien we lie beneath the daisies. 

Underneath the churchyard mold, 
And the long grass o'er our faces 

Lays its fingers damp and cold; 
When we sleep from care and sorrow. 

And the ills of earthly life 

Sleep, to know no sad tomorrow. 

With Its bitterness of strife — 
^Mio will care? 

Who will care? 
Wlio will come to weep above us. 

Lying, oh! so white and still. 
Underneath the skies of summer, 

Wlien all nature's pulses thrill 
To a new life, glad and tender. 

Full of beauty, rich and sweet. 
And the world is clad in splendor 

That the years shall e'er repeat — 
Who will care? 

Who will care? 
Who will think of white hands lying 

On a still and silent breast. 
Nevermore to know of sighing. 

Evermore to know of rest? 
\Mio will care? No one can tell us; 

But if rest and peace befall, 
"Will it matter if they miss us. 

Or they miss us not at all? 
Not at all! 



ONLY A MOMENT. 

Only one little moment; 

All our work to be done — 
Sheaves of a life-time gathered, 

Victories lost or won. 

No time to be standing idle; 

No time to be gazing back 
To the flowers we leave ungathered- 

We can not retrace the track. 

No time for vain repining 

O'er battles we have lost; 
Nor after every conquest 

To sit and count the cost. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 217 



No time for idle dreaming 

Of victories to be won, 
Of pleasures that may greet us 

When the moment's work is done. 

No time for hate and malice; 

No time for idle strife 
We've only just a moment 

In v.-hich to live a life. 

Only one little moment; 

All our work to be done — 
Sheaves of a life-time gathered, 

Victories lost or won. 

P. B. Davis. 



SILENT SHADES OF EVENING. 

Silently the shades of evening- 
Gatlier round our lonely door; 

Silently they bring before us 
Faces we shall see no more. 

Oh, the lost, the unforgotten! 

Though the world be oft forgot; 
Oh, the shrouded and the lonely! 

In our hearts they perish not. 

Living in the silent hours, 

Wliere our spirits only blend; 

They, unlinked with earthly trouble, 
We, still hoping for the end. 

How such holy memories cluster. 

Like the stars when storms are past, 

Pointing up to that fair heaven 
We may hope to gain at last! 

C. C. Cox. 



THANATOPSIS. 

[This was Br.vant's early poem, written when he 
was seventeen or eighteen years old and in his soli- 
tary rambles in the woods. 1 

To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she 

speaks 
A various language: for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When 

thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow 

house. 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at 

heart. 
Go forth under the open sky, and list 
T o Nature's teachings, while from all 

around^ 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of 

air — 
Comes a still voice: Yet a few days, and 

thea 



The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many 

tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, 

shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering 

up 
Thine individual being shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements; 
To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
And to the sluggish clod which the rude 

swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. 

The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy 

mold. 
Tet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou 

wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie 

down 
■R'ith patriarchs of the infant world; with 

kings. 
The powerful of the eartli ; the wise, the 

good. 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. 
All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills, 
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the 

vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 
That make the meadows green; and, poured 

round all. 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste. 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun. 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that 

tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
■Rliere rolls the Oregon, and hears no 

sound 
Save his own dashings, — yet the dead are 

there! 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them 

down 
In their last sleep; the dead reign there 

alone! 
So Shalt thou rest; and what If thou with- 
draw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that 

breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
WTien thou art gone, the solemn brood of 

care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall 

leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and 

shall come 



348 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And make their bed with thee. As the 

long train 
Of ag:es glide away, and sons of men — 
The youth in life's green spring, and he 

who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and 

maid. 
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed 

man — 
Shall one by one be gathered to tliy side 
By those who in their turn shall follow 

them. 
So live, that when thy summons comes 

to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall 

take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and 

soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his 

couch 
About him. and lies down to pleasant 

dreams. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



SNOWED UNDER. 

Of a thousand things that the Tear snowed 
under — 
The busy Old Year that has gone away — 
How many will rise in the spring, I won- 
der. 
Brought to life by the sun of May? 
Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly 
hidden 
That never a rose-tree seems to be. 
At the sweet spring's call come forth un- 
bidden. 
And bud in beauty, and bloom for me? 

WUll the fair, green Earth, whose throb- 
bing bosom 
Is hid, like a maid's in her gown at night. 
Wake out of sleep, and with blade and 
blossom 
Gem her garments to please my sight? 
Over the knoll in the valley yonder 

The loveliest buttercups bloomed and 
grew; 
When the snow has gone that drifted them 
under. 
Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom 
anew? 

When wild winds blew and a sleet-storm 
pelted, 
I lost a jewel of priceless worth; 
If I walk that way when snows have 
melted. 
Will the gem gleam up from the bare, 
brown earth? 
1 laid a love that was dead or dying. 

For the year to bury and hide from sight: 
But out of a trance will it waken crying. 
And push to my heart, like a leaf to the 
light? 



Under the snow lie things so cherished — 

Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men; 
Faces tliat vanished, and trusts that per- 
ished, 
Never to sparkle or glow again. 
The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder, 

And covered it over and hurried away; 
Of the thousand things that he hid, I won- 
der 
How many will rise at the call of May? 
O wise Young Year, with your hands held 
under 
Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray! 
Ella Whbbleb Wilcox. 



ONLY WAITING. 

[A very aged Christian, wlio wa.s so poor as to be 
in an almshouse, was aslied, "What are you doing 
now?" He replied, "Only waiting.^'} 

Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown; 
Till the night of earth is faded 

From the heart once full of day; 
Till the stars of heaven are breaking 

Through the twilight soft and gray. 

Only waiting till the reapers 

Have the last sheaf gathered home; 
For the summer-time is faded, 

And tlie autumn winds have come. 
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly 

The last ripe hours of my heart, 
For the bloom of life is withered. 

And I hasten to depart. 

Only waiting till the angels 

Open wide the mystic gate, 
At whose feet I long have lingered. 

Weary, poor, and desolate. 
Even now I hear the footsteps 

And tlieir voices, far away; 
If they call me, I am waiting, 

Onlj- waiting to obey. 

Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown; 
Then from out the gathered darkness. 

Holy, deathless stars shall rise. 
By whose light my soul shall gladly 

Tread its pathway to the skies. 



FAME, WEALTH, LIFE, DEATH. 

What is fame? 
'Tis the sun-gleam on the mountain. 

Spreading bri.ghtly ere it flies; 
'Tis the bubble on the fountain, 

Rising lightly ere it dies; 
Or, if here and there a hero 

Be remembered through the years. 
Yet to him the gain is zero: 

Death hath stilled his hopes and fears. 
Yet what dangers men will dare 
If but only in the air 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— 'Life, Time, Anticipation. 2i9 



May be heard some eager mention of their 

name; 
Thougli they hear it not themselves, 'tis 

much the same. 

What is wealth? 
'Tis a rainbow still recedinir 

As the panting fool pursues, 
Or a toy that youth, unheeding. 

Seeks the readiest way to lose; 
But the wise man keeps due measure. 

Neither out of breath nor base; 
He but holds in trust his treasure 

For the welfare of the race. 
Yet what crimes some men will dare 
But to gain their slender share 
In some profit, though with loss of name or 

health: 
In some plunder, spent on vices or by 
stealth. 

What is life? 
'Tis the earthly hour of trial 
For a life that's but begun, 
When the prize of self-denial 

May be quickly lost or won; 
'Tis the hour when love may burgeon 

To an eve lasting flower. 
Or when lusts t' eir victims urge on 

To defy immortal power. 
Tet how lightly men ignore 
All the future holds in store. 
Spending brief but golden moments all In 

strife. 
Or in suicidal madness grasp the knife. 

What is death? 
Past its dark, mysterious portal 

Human eye may never roam; 
Yet the hope still springs immortal 
That it leads the wanderer home. 
Oh, the bliss that lies betore us 

^"hen the secret shall be known. 
And the vast angelic chorus 

Sounds the hymn before the throne! 
What is fame, or wealth, or life? 
Past are praises, fortune, strife; 
All but love, that lives forever, cast be- 
neath. 
When the good and faithful servant takes 
the wreath. ^ ^ Skbat. 



oh! why should the SPIRIT OF 
MORTAL BE PROUD? 

rXho favorite poem of Abraham LiDCOln. He learned 
ft by heart, and often. In his meditative moods, took 
occasion to repeat it.] 

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be 

proud? 
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying 

cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the 

wave, 
Man passeth from life to his rest in the 

grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall 
fade, 



Be scattered around, and together be laid; 
And the young and the old, and the low 

and tlie high, 
Shall molder to dust and togetlier shall lie. 

The infant a mother attended and loved; 
The motlier that infant's affection who 

proved ; 
The husband that mother and infant who 

blessed, — 
Each, all are away to their dwelling of rest. 

Tlie maid on wliose cheek, on whose brow, 

in whose eye. 
Shone beauty and pleasure, — lier triumplis 

are by; 
And the memory of those who loved her 

and praised 
Are alike from the minds of tlie living 

erased. 

The hand of the king that the scepter hath 

borne; 
The brow of the priest that the miter hath 

worn; 
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the 

brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the 

grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to 

reap, 
Tlie herdsman who climbed with his goats 

up the steep. 
The beggar who wandered in search of his 

bread. 
Have faded away like the grass that we 

tread. 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of 

heaven. 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven. 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the 

dust. 

So the multitude goes, like the flowers or 
the weed 

That withers away to let others succeed; 

So the multitude comes, even tliose we be- 
hold. 

To repeat every tale that has often been 
told. 

For we are the same that our fathers have 

been; 
We see the same sights our fathers have 

seen: 
We drink tlie same stream, and view the 

same sun. 
And run the same course our fathers have 

run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers 
would think; 

From the death we are shrinking our fa- 
thers would shrink: 

To the life we are clinging they also would 
clin«. 

Put it speeds for us all, like a bird on the 
wing. 



250 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



They loved, but the story we can not un- 
fold; 

They scorned, but the heart of the haughty 
is cold; 

They grieved, but no wail from their slum- 
bers will come; 

They joyed, but the tongue of their glad- 
ness is dumb. 

They died, aye! they died; and we things 

that are now. 
Who walk on the turf that lies over their 

brow. 
Who make in their dwelling a transient 

abode, 
Meet the things that they met on their 

pilgrimage road. 

Tea! hope and despondency, pleasure and 

pain. 
We mingle together in sunshine and rain; 
And the smiles and the tears, the song 

and the dirge. 
Still follow each other, like surge upon 

surge. 

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of 

a breath. 
From tlie blossom of health to the paleness 

of death. 
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the 

shroud. — ■ 
Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be 

PfO"d' William Knos. 



KNEEL AT J\'0 HUMAN SHRINE. 

Must then that peerless form, 
Wliich love and admiration can not view. 
Without a beating of the heart; those veins 
That steal like streams along a field of 
snow. 
That lovely outline, that is fair 
As breathing marble, perish? 

Shelley. 



Kneel not, O friend of mine, before a shrine. 

That bears the impress of humanity: 
Have thou no idol; lest those hopes of thine. 
Prove but false lights upon a treacherous 
sea. 
Knowest thou that clouds freighted with 

storm and rain 
Will overspread with darkest gloom again 

Ton azure sky? 
Knowest thou that rose that blooms be- 
side thy door 
Will waste upon the gale its fragrant store. 

And fade and die? 
Know also that the loved and tried for 

years, 
The cynosure of all thy hopes and fears, 
May pass thee by. 

Maiden! upon whose fair unclouded brow, 
Half hid by many a curl of clustering 
hair. 

I mark the buds of promise bursting now, 
Unmingled with a thought of future care; 



Thou, for whose sake the bridal wreath is 

made. 
For whom the rose, in spotless white ar- 
rayed. 

Expands its leaf, — 
Oh! let me teach thee, as a sister may, 
A lesson thou shouldst bear in mind al- 
way — 

That life is brief; 
That bridal flowers have decked the silent 

bier, 
And smiles of joy been melted with the 
tear 

Of burning grief. 

Mother! wlio gazeth with a mother's joy 
And all a mother's changeless love and 
pride 
Upon the noble forehead of thy boy, 

Wlio stands in childish beauty by thy side. 
And, gazing through the mists of coming 

time. 
Beholds him standing in the verdant prime 

Of manhood's day, — 
I warn tliee! build no castles in the air. 
That form, so full of life, so matchless fair. 

Is only clay! 
That bud just bursting to a perfect flower. 
May, like the treasures of thy garden bower. 
Soon pass away. 

Father! whose days, though in "the yellow 
leaf," 
Have golden tints from life's rich sun- 
set thrown; 
Whose heart, a stranger to the pangs of 
grief, 
Still suns itself witliin the loves of home: 
Who with thy dear companion by thy side. 
Has felt thy barque adown life's current 
g-lide 

With peaceful breeze, — 
Burn thou no incense here; Hast thou not 

seen 
The forest change its summer robe of green 

For leafless trees? 
Believe me, all who breathe the vital breath 
Are subject to the laws of life and death. 
And so are these. 

Ah, yes! beneath the churchyard's grassy 
mound 
Too many an early smitten idol lies. 
Too many a star of promise has gone down 

The soul's horizon, never more to rise, 
For thou to safely rear thy temple here. 
And fancy, while the storm-cloud hovers 
near. 

It stands secure. 
Oh, trust it not! That flash of brilliant liglit 
Will only from the thorny path of night 

Thy steps allure. 
One arm that never fails, that never tires, 
That moves in harmo"" the heavenly 
choirs. 

Alone 's sure. 

Be this thy spirit's anchor; that when all 
Most near and dear to tliee shall pass 
away. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Life, Time, Anticipation. 251 



When pride and power and liuman hope 
shall fall, 
A faith in God shall be thy shield and 
stay. 
Lay up thy treasures where the hand of 

time, 
The storms and changes of this fickle 
clime, 

Shall seek in vain; 
Wliere the bright dreams of youth shall 

know no bligrht, 
The days of love and Joy, no starless 
night. 

And life no pain; 
And where thou yet slialt find, when cares 

are o'er, 
The loved and lost ones who have "gone 
before" 

Are thine again. 

A. P. Kent. 



THE CYPRESS-TREE OF CEYLON. 

[In Batuta. the celebrated Mussulman traveler of 
the fourteenth century, speaks of a cypress-tree Id 
Ceylon universally held sacred by the natives, the 
leaves of which were said to fall only at certain in- 
tervals, and he who had the happiness to find and 
eat one of them was restored at onco to youth and 
vigor. The traveler saw several venerable Jogees. or 
eaints, sitting silent and motionless under the tree.] 

They sat in silent watchfulness 
The sacred cypress-tree about; 

And, from beneath old wrinkled brows, 
Their failing eyes looked out. 

Gray age and sickness waiting there 
Through weary night and lingering — 

Grim as the idols at their side. 
And motionless as they. 

Unheeded in the boughs above 

The song of Ceylon's birds was sweet; 

Unseen of them the island flowers 
Bloomed brightly at their feet. 

O'er them the tropic night-storm swept. 
The thunder crashed on rock and hill; 

The cloud-fire on their eyeballs blazed. 
Yet there they waited still. 

Wliat was the world without to them? 

The Moslem's sunset-call, the dance 
Of Ceylon's maids, the passing gleam 

Of battle-flag and lance? 

They waited for that falling leaf 

Of which the wanderin;? Jogees sing; 

Which lends once more to wintry age 
The greenness of its spring. 

Oh! if these poor and blinded ones 
In trustful patience wait to feel 

O'er torpid pulse and failing limb 
A youthful freshness steal, 

Shall we who sit beneath that Tree 
\\Tiose healing leaves of life arc shed. 

In answer to the breath of prayer. 
Upon the waiting head — 



Not to restore our failing forms, 

And build the spirit's broken shrinci 

But on the fainting soul to shed 
A light and life divine — 

Shall we grow weary in our watch 
And murmur at the long delay. 

Impatient of our Father's time 
And his appointed way? 

Or shall the stir of outward things 
Allure and claim the Christian's eye, 

When on the heathen watcher's ear 
Their powerless murmurs die? 

Alas! a deeper test of faith 

Than jjrison cell or martyr's stake. 

The self-abasing watchfulness 
Of silent prayer may make. 

We gird us bravely to rebuke 
Our erring brother in the wrong; 

And in the ear of Pride and Power 
Our warning voice is strong. 

Easier to smite with Peter's sword 

Than "watch one hour" in humbling 
prayer. 

Life's "great things," like the Syrian lord. 
Our hearts can do and dare; 

But oh! we shrink from Jordan's side, 
From waters which alone can save; 

And murmur for Abana's banks 
And Pharpar's brighter wave. 

O Thou, who in the garden's shade 
Didst wake Thy weary ones again. 

Who slumbered at that fearful hour 
Forgetful of Thy pain. 

Bend o'er us now, as over them. 

And set our sleep-bound spirits free. 
Nor leave us slumbering in the watch 

Our souls should keep with Thee! 

John Gkeenleap Whittieh. 



CARDINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST 
OFF BY KING HENRY VIII. 

Nay, then, farewell! 

I have touched the highest point of all my 
greatness. 

And, from that full meridian of my glory, 

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall 

Like a briglit exhalation in the evening. 

And no man see me more. 

So farewell to the little good you bear me. 

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my great- 
ness! 

This is the state of man: today he puts 
forth 

The tender leaves of hope; tomorrow, blos- 
soms. 

And bears his blushing honors thick upon 
him; 

The third day comes a frost, a kiUin,g frost. 

And, when he thinks — good, easy man — full 
surely 

His greatness is a ripening, nips his root. 



^Sz 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And tlien lie falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on blad- 
ders. 
These many summers in a sea of glory; 
But far beyond my depth: by high-blown 

pride 
At length broke under me; and now has left 

me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide 

me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate 

ye! 
I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how 

wretched 
Is that poor man tliat hangs on princes' 

favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire 

to, 
That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin. 
More pangs and fears than wars or women 

have: 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer — 
Never to hope again! 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries: but thou hast forced me, 
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, 

Cromwell; 
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be. 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no 

mention 
Of me must more be heard of, — say, then, I 

taught thee — 
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of 

glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of 

honor. 
Found thee a way out of his wreck, to rise 

in; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master 

missed it. 
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me! 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambi- 
tion! 
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, 

then. 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? 
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that 

hate thee — 
Corruption wins not more than honesty: 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To silence envious tongues. Be Just, and 

fear not. 
Let all the ends that aim'st at be thy 

countr.v's, 
Thy God's, and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, 

O Cromwell, 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the 

king: 

And, Prithee, lead me in: 

There, take an inventory of all I have. 
To the last penny; 'tis the king's. My robe. 
And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own O Cromwell, 

Cromwell! 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not, in mine 

age, 
Have left me naked to mine enemies! 

William .Siiakespbare. 



WHICH ROAD? 



If you could go back to the forks of the 

road. 
Back to the long miles you have carried the 

load. 
Back to the place where you had to decide 
By this way or that through your life to 

abide. 
Back of the sorrow and back of the care. 
Back to the place where the future was 

fair, — 
If you were there now, a decision to make, 
O pilgrim of sorrow, which road would you 

take? 

Then, after you'd trodden the other long 
track. 

Suppose that again to the forks you went 
back. 

After you found that its promises fair 

Were but a delusion that led to a snare; 

That the road you first traveled with sighs 
and unrest, 

Tliough dreary and rough was most gra- 
ciously blessed 

With balm for each bruise and a charm 
for each ache, — ■ 

O pilgrim of sorrow, which road would you 
take? 



CROSSING THE BAR. 

("As Tenn.vsoTi's nurse was sitting one da.v at his 
bedside, sharini!, to a degree, the general anxiety 
about the patient, she said to him suddenly : 'You 
have written a great many poems, sir : but 1 have 
never heard anj'body sa.v that there is a hymn among 
them all. I wish you would write a h.vmn while you 
are lying on your sick-bed. It might heli» and com- 
fort many a poor sueferer.' The next morning, when 
the nurse had taken her quiet place at the bedside, 
the poet handed her a scrap of paper, saying, 'Here 
is the hymn you wished me to write.* She took it 
from his hands with expressions of gratified thanks. 
It proved to be 'Crossing the Bar,' the poem that 
was sung in Westminster Abbey at Tennyson's fun- 
eral, and which has touched so many hearts."] 

Sunset and evening star. 

And the one clear call for me! 
.\nd may there be no moaning of the bar 

^\Tien I put out to sea. 

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 

Too full for sound and foam. 
When that which drew from out the bound- 
less deep 

Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell. 
And after that the dark! 
.■^nd may there be no sadness of farewell 
When I embark. 

For though from out our bourne of time 
and place 
The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
"UTien T have crossed the bar. 

.\LFRED Tennyson. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Woman's Sphere and Influence. 253 



WOMAN'S SPHERE AND INFLUENCE 



WOMEN AT THE CROSS. 

Upon that sad and awful day, 

"Wlhen in tliine hour of sorest need 

Thy loved disciples turned away 
And left tliee on tlie cross to bleed, 

Woman, in her love, drew near 

And shed for thee the silent tear. 

Wlien laid upon thy sacred head 
Wa-s all our load of sin and shame, 

While others from thy sorrows fled 
And feai'ed to own thy holy name. 

Woman, in her love, we know. 

Felt the sharpness of thy woe. 

When flowingr from thy wounded side. 
Thy precious blood ran slowly down 

Till thou hadst in thy anguish died 
To gain for us the victor's crown, 

Woman, in her love, was nigh ^ 

And mourned to see thee bleed and die. 

Upon that g^reat and glorious day, 

"When from thy dark and dreary tomb 

Bright angels rolled the stone away, 

When thou hadst risen from its gloom, — 

■U'oman, in her love so rare. 

Was first to meet her Savior there. 

T. E. Wilson. 



A MOTHER S LOVE. 

There is in all this cold and hollow world 

no fount 
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that 

within 
A mother's heart. It is but pride wherewith 
To his fair eye the father's ey© doth turn. 
Watching his growth. Aye, on the babe he 

looks, 
The bright glad creature springing in liis 

path. 
But as the heir of his great name — the 

young 
And stately tree, whose rising strength ere 

long 
Shall bear his trophies well. And this is 

lo ve ! 
This is man's love! 'WHiat marvel? You ne'er 

made 
Tour breast the pillow of his infancy. 
While to the fulness of your heart's glad 

heavings. 
His fair cheek rose and fell, and his bright 

hair 
Waved softly to your breath ! You ne'er 

kept watch 
Beside him till the last pale star had set, 
And morn, all dazzling, as in triumph, broke 
On your dim weary eye. Not yours the face 
Which early faded through fond care for 

him. 
Hung o'er his sleep, and duly as heaven's 

light. 



Was there to greet his wakening! You 
ne'er smoothed 

His couch, ne'er sung him to his rosy rest; 

Caught his least whisper, when his voice 
from yours 

had learnt soft utterance; pressed your 
lips to his, 

When fever parched it; hushed his way- 
ward cries 

With patient, vigilant, never-wearied love. 

No! these are woman's tasks! in these her 
youth. 

And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart. 

Steal from her all unmarked. 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



HOUSE AND HOME. 



of 



A house is built of bricks and stones, 

sills and posts and piers; 
But a home is built of loving deeds that 

stand a thou.sand years. 
A house, though but a humble cot, within 

its walls may hold 
A home of priceless beauty, rich in Love's 

eternal gold. 

The men on earth build houses — halls and 
chambers, roofs and domes — 

But the women of the earth — God knows! — 
the women build the homes. 



OUR AMERICAN WOMEN. 

The maid who binds her warrior's sash 

With smile that well her pain dissembles. 
The while beneath her drooping lash 

One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles. 
Though Heaven alone records the tear, 

And Fame shall never know her story. 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 

As e'er bedewed the field of glory. 

The wife who girds her husband's sword. 

Mid little ones who weep or wonder, 
And bravely speaks the cheerin:,' word. 

What though her heart be rent asunder. 
Doomed nightly in her dreams to iiear 

The bolts of death around him rattle. 
Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er 

Was poured upon the field of battle. 

The mother who conceals her grief 

While to her breast her son she presses, 
Til en breathes a few brave words and grief. 

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 
M'lith no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her, 
Slieds holy blood as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor! 
Thoma.s Buchanan Read.. 



254 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE 

CRADLE IS THE HAND THAT ROCKS 

THE WORLD, 

Blessing^s on the hand of women! 

Ansels guard its strength and grace, 
In the palace, cottage, hovel, 

Oh, no matter where the place: 
Would that never storms assailed It, 

Rainbows ever gently curled; 
For the hand that rocks the cradle 

Is tlie hand that rocks the world. 

Infancy's the tender fountain. 

Power may with beauty flow, 
Mother's first to guide the streamlets. 

From them souls unresting grow — 
Grow on for the good or evil, 

Sunshine streamed or evil hurled: 
For the hand that rocks the cradle 

Is the hand that rocks the world. 

Woman, how divine your mission 

Here upon our natal sod! 
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open 

Always to the breath of God! 
All true trophies of the a.ges 

Are from mother-love Impearled; 
For the hand that rocks the cradle 

Is the hand that rocks the world. 

Blessings on the hand of women! 

Fathers, sons, and daughters cry. 
And the sacred song is mingled 

With the worship in the sky — 
Mingles where no tempest darkens. 

Rainbows evermore are hurled; 
For the hand that rocks the cradle 

Is the hand that rocks the world. 

William Ross Wallace. 



WOMEN S RIGHTS. 

A right to tread so softly 

Beside the couch of pain; 
To smooth with gentle fingers 

The tangled locks again; 
To watch beside the dying 

In wee small hours of night. 
And breathe a consecrating prayer 

When the spirit takes its flight. 

A right to cheer the weary 

On the battle-fields of life; 
To give the word of sympathy 

Amid the toil and strife; 
To lift the burden gently 

From sore and tired hearts, 
And never weary of the task 

Till gloomy care departs. 

A right to be a woman 

In truest woman's work; 
If life should be a hard one, 

No duties ever shirk; 
A right to show to others 

How strong a woman tows 
When skies are dark and lowering. 

And life bears not a rose. 



If the husbands were but lovers, 

Who cared to pet and praise, 
There would be no fret in the trials met. 

In the frictions of the days. 
There would be no passionate yearning 

For a something in her heart, 
For the soul that strives in the restless 
wives. 

If the husbands did their part. 

If the men would praatise justice. 

If the making of the laws 
Were straight and right, there would be 
no fight. 

No need of a "Woman's Cause." 
It is only that hearts are starving 

Behind life's prison bars, 
Wlio long for the gem God meant for them, 

Who are reaching for the stars. 

Oh! if men would but be tender 

And loving, they would find 
Love would rebound the whole world round, 

And lives be sweet and kind. 
There would be no talking of equal rights, 

No search in the skies above; 
For a woman's care is a larger share 

In the kingdom of man's love. 

A right to love one truly 

And be loved back again; 
A right to share his fortunes 

Through sunlight and through rain; 
A right to be protected 

From life's most cruel blights 
By manly love and courage, — 

Sure, these are woman's rights. 



SWEETS OF WOMAN S LIFE. 

A baby at rest on mother's breast, 
Too young to smile or weep, 

Conscious of naught but mother's love- 
So sweet Is infant's sleep. 

A child at play in meadows green. 
Plucking the fragrant flowers, 

Chasing the bright-winged butterflies — 
So sweet are childhood's hours. 

A maiden fair at early dawn. 

Radiant with every grace, 
Glad'ning the eye that looks on her — 

So sweet is beauty's face. 

A softly-blushing, downcast look, 

Murmur of startled dove. 
Answering another's tender words — 

So sweet is maiden's love. 

A white-robed virgin, kneeling low, 

Before God's altar bows, 
Forever joined two hearts and hands — 

So sweet are marriage vows. 

A youthful mother bending o'er 
Her first-born, beauteous boy. 

Forever hers till death shall part — 
So sweet a mother's joy. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION — Woman's Sphere and Influence. 255 



The matron in life's autumn-time. 

With young life clustered o'er, 
Her children's children clasp her knees — 

So rich is autumn's store. 



A MOTHERS INFLUENCE. 

■WThen barren doubt like a late-coming snow- 
Made an unkind December of my spring, 
That all the pretty flowers did droop for woe, 
And the sweet birds their love no mora 
would sing; 
Then the remembrance of thy gentle faith. 
Mother, beloved, would steal upon my 
heart; 
Fond feelings saved me from that utter 
scathe, 
And from thy hope I could not live apart. 

Now that my mind hath passed from wintry 
gloom, 
And on the calmed waters again 
Ascendant faith circles with silver plume. 
That casts a charmed shade, not now in 
pain. 
Thou child of Christ, in joy I think of thee, 
And mingle prayers for what we both 
may be. 

ARTHDB HEJfBT HaLLAM. 



ADAM TO EVE. 

O fairest of creation, last and best 
Of all God's works, creature in whom ex- 
celled 
■WTiatever can to sight or thought be 
formed. 
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! 
How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost. 
Defaced, deflowered, and now to death de- 
vote! 
Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress 
The strict forbiddance, how to violate 
The sacred fruit forbidden! Some cursed 

fraud 
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown. 
And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee 
Certain my resolution is to die. 
How can I live without thee, how forego 
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly 

joined. 
To live again in these wild woods forlorn? 
Should God create another Eve, and I 
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee 
Would never from my heart; no, no, I feel 
The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh. 
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy 

state 
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe. 
However, I with thee have fixed my lot. 
Certain to undergo like doom; if death 
Consort with thee, death is to me as life; 
So forcible within my heart I feel 
The bond of nature draw me to mine own. 
My own in thee, for what thou art is mine; 
Our state can not be severed; we are one. 
One flesh: to lose thee were to lose myself. 

John Milton. 



BE A WOMAN. 

Oft I've heard a gentle mother. 

As the twilight hours began. 
Pleading with a son, of duty, 

Urging him to be a man; 
But unto her blue-eyed daughter. 

Though with love's words quite as ready, 
Points she out this other duty: 

"Strive, my dear, to be a lady." 

What's a lady? Is it something 

Made of hoops and silks and airs. 
Used to decorate the parlor. 

Like the fancy mats and chairs? 
Is it one who wastes on novels 

Every feeling that is human? 
If 'tis this to be a lady, 

'Tls not this to be a woman. 

Mother, then, unto your daughter 

Speak of something higher far 
Than to be mere fashion's lady — 

Woman is the brightest star. 
If you in your strong affection 

Urge your son to be a true man. 
Urge your daughter no less strongly 

To arise and be a woman. 

Tes, a woman — brightest model 

Of that high and perfect beauty 
■Where the mind and soul and body 

Blend to work out life's great duty. 
Be a woman! naught is higher 

On the gilded list of fame; 
On the catalog of virtue 

There's no brighter, holier name. 

Be a woman! on to duty! 

Raise the world from all that's low; 
Place high in the social heaven 

Virtue's fair and radiant bow; 
Lend thy influence to each effort 

That shall raise our nature human. 
Be not fashion's gilded lady; 

Be a brave, whole-souled, true woman! 
Edwaho Brooks. 



WOMAN. 

Methinks, o'er all the realms of space. 
Creative hand ne'er meant to trace 

A nobler form or fairer face. 

With brighter charm or sweeter grace, 

Than woman, who was sent to cheer 
Man in his lonely, hapless fate, 

■«"ith kindness and affection's tear. 
And lead him to a higher state. 

Her charming face and trusting heart 
Wakes in his breast heroic flame; 

For her he toils by strength and art. 
To carve his way to wealth and fame. 

He tills the soil, and sails the fleet. 

Subdues the earth, explores its wilds, 
To lay his treasures at her feet. 

For her approving love and smiles. 



256 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



In every land where women stand 
In loving beauty by man's side, 

His rudeness turns to manners bland, 
And truth and honor in his pride. 

First at the cradle and the grave. 

With swelling heart and anxious breath, 

She ope's the eyes of great and brave. 
And shuts them in the glare of death. 

Then lordly man, that scoffs at fear, 
At your own hearth or where ye roam 

Strive with true love to bless and cheer 
This angel of our earthly home. 

G. W. WiHDEB. 



THE WIFE. 

All day, like some sweet bird content to 
sing 
In its small cage, she moveth to and 
fro; 
And ever and anon will upward spring 
To her sweet lips, fresh from the fount 
The murmured melody of pleasant thought. 
Unconscious, uttered, gentle-toned, and 
low. 
Light household duties, evermore inwrought 
With placid fancies of one trusting heart 
That lives but in her smile, and turns 
From life's cold seeming and the busy 
mart. 
With tenderness, that heavenward ever 

yearns 
To be refreshed where one pure altar burns. 
Shut out from hence the mockery of life, 
Thus liveth she content — the meek, fond, 
trustful wife. 

Elizabeth Oakes Smith. 



A MOTHER S LOVE. 

Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea, 
-4nd knowest tlie treasures tliat under it be? 
Hast thou lifted the veil from the heaven 

above? 
Then mayest thou knov.' a mother's love. 

Hast thou fathomed the force of th^ v. ind 

and the tide. 
And the great laws of nature which move 

side by side? 
Hast thou felt the sweet kisses the breezes 

impart? 
Then mayest thou know a mother's heart. 

Hast thou climbed the summit of yonder 

great hills? 
Hast thou learned the music of murmuring 

rills? 
Dost thou know the mission of prayers 

sent above? 
Then mayest thou know a mother's true 

love. 

Hast thou seen the flowers 'neath an angry 
sky 



Beat down by tlie storm and left to die. 
And then kissed back again to life, so true? 
Then mayest thou know what motliers can 
do. 

Hast thou seen the ships on an angry sea? 
Hast thou seen the lightning strike the 

huge oak-tree? 
Then mayest thou know the force within, 
And show to the world what mother has 

been. 

Too great for words, too sweet, too grand. 
Is tlie life of mothers in every land. 
They lift on their wings of faith and love, 
Into the realms of God above. 
The children that bless and pray each day 
For the guidance of mother just over the 

"'2.y. Mrs. M4RGAEET LB GRANGB. 



MATERNAL LOVE. 

A mother's love! 

If there be one thing pure 

Where all beside is sullied. 

That can endure 

When all else pass away ; 

If there be aught 

Surpassing human word or deed or 

thought, — 
It is a mother's love! 

.MAIiCHIONESS nB SPADARA. 



THE CHRISTIAN MOTHER. 

When unrelenting sorrow wraps her shroud 
Around the tender feelings of the heart. 

And to the troubled mind a restless crowd 
Of agonizing thoughts their woe impart, 

■^"liere can the tortured spirit find a balm 

To heal the broken heart, the sea of grief 
to calm? 

When darkness overspreads the face of day, 
And fearful phantoms pass before the 
eyes 

And strike the doubting soul with deep dis- 
may 
While boding sounds are heard along the 
skies. 

Wliere can we find a shield of armor bright? 

Where can we turn to find one ray of liv- 
ing light? 

WTien through the cold and heartless world 
we wend 
Our weary footsteps in life's pilgrimage: 
When faith is broken by our nearest friend. 
And tears bedim the leaf of memory's 
page, — ■ 
Where can the crushed affections find a stay? 
Where find a faithful one that never will 
betray? 

When roaming o'er the desert waste our 
tracks 
Led through the scenes of deadly hate 
and strife. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION— Woman's Sphere and Influence. 257 



Or struggling mid tlie furious waves and 
wrecks 
Wlien tempest-tossed upon the sea of 
life, — 
He who has not forgot his mother's prayer, 
The haven she pointed out, will cast his 
anchor there. 

John William Boxell. 



WOMAN S VOICE. 

Not in the swaying of the summer trees 
When evening breezes sing their vesper 
hymn; 
Not in the minstrel's mighty symphonies. 

Nor ripples breaking on the river's brim, — 
Is earth's best music. These may move a 

while 
High thoughts in happy hearts, and carking 
cares beguile; 

But even as the swallow's silken wings. 
Skimming the water of the sleeping lake. 

Stir the still silver with a hundred rings. 
So doth one sound the sleeping spirit wake 

To brave the danger and to bear the harm — 

A low and gentle voice, dear woman's chief- 
est charm. 

An excellent thing it is, and ever lent 

To truth and love and meekness. They 

who own 

This gift, by the all-gracious Giver sent, 

Ever by quiet step and smile are known; 

By kind eyes that have wept, hearts that 

have sorrowed; 
By patience never tired, from their own 
trials borrowed. 

An excellent thing it is when first in glad- 
ness 
A mother looks into her infant's eyes. 

Smiles to its smiles, and saddens to its 
sadness. 
Pales at its paleness, sorrows at its cries: 

Its food and sleep, and smiles and little 
joys,— 

All these come ever blent with one low, 
gentle voice. 



An excellent tiling it is when life is leaving. 
Leaving witli gloom and gladness, joys 
and cares, 

The strong heart failing, and the high soul 
grieving 
With strangest thoughts, and with un- 
wonted fears; 

Then, then a woman's low, soft sympathy 

Comes like an angel's voice to teach us liow 
to die. 

But a most excellent thing it is in youth 
When the fond lover hears the loved one's 
tone. 
That fears, but longs to syllable the truth — 
How their two hearts are one, and she 
his own; 
It makes sweet human music — oh! the spells 
That haunt the trembling tale a bright- 
eyed maiden tells! 

Edwin .^unold. 



THE SOLDIERS WIFE. 

He offered himself for the land he loved, 
But what shall we say for her? 

He gave to his country a soldier's life; 

'Twas dearer by far to tlie soldier's \. ife. 
All honor today to her! 

He went to the war while his blood was hot. 

But what shall we say of her? 
He .saw himself through the battle's flame 
A hero's reward on the scroll of fame; 
WTiat honor is due to her? 

He offered himself, but his wife did more. 

All honor today to her! 
For dearer than life the gift she gave 
In givin? the life she would die to save; 

"^Miat honor is due to her? 

He gave up his life at his country's call. 

But what shall we say of her? 
He offered himself as a sacrifice. 
But she is the one who pays the price; 
All honor we owe to her. 



LABOR 

and 

RURAL LIFE 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE. 



261 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE 



TRIBUTE TO GENIUS AND LABOR. 

The camp has had its day of song; 

The sword, the bayonet, the plume. 
Have crowded out of rhyme too long 

The plow, the anvil, and the loom. 
Oh, not upon our tented fields 

Are freedom's heroes bred alone; 
The training of the workshop yields 

More heroes true than war has known. 

Who drives the bolt, who shapes the steel. 

May, with the heart as valiant smite, 
As he who sees a foeman reel 

In blood before his blow of migiit. 
The skill that conciuers space and time. 

That graces life, that lightens toil, 
Maj' spring from courage more sublime 

Than that which makes a realm its spoil. 

Let Labor, then, look up and see 

His craft no path of honor lacks; 
The soldier's rifle yet shall be 

Less honored than the woodman's ax. 
Let Art his own appointment prize. 

Nor deem that gold or outward height 
Can compensate the worth that lies 

In tastes that breed their own delight. 

And may the time draw nearer still 

WTien men this sacred truth shall heed, 
That from the thought and from the will 

Must all that raises man proceed. 
Though pride should hold our calling low. 

For us shall duty make it good; 
And we from truth to truth shall go. 

Till life and death are understood. 

EpE3 Sabgent. 



THE OLD WAYS AND THE NEW. 

I've just come in from the meadow, wife, 

where the grass is tall and green; 
I hobbled out upon my cane to see John's 

new machine. 
It made my old eves snap again to see that 

mower mow. 
And I heaved a sigh for the scythe I swung 

some twenty years ago. 

Many and many's the day I've mowed 'neath 

the rays of a scorching sun. 
Till I thought my poor old back would 

break ere my task for the day was done: 
I often think of the days of toil in the fields 

all over the farm, 
Till I feel the sweat on my wrinkled brow 

and the old pain come in my arm. 

It was hard work, it was slow work, a 

swingin' the old scythe then: 
Unlike the mower that went through the 

grass like death through the ranks of 

men. 
I stood and looked till my old eyes ached, 

amazed at its speed and power; 



The work that it took me a day to do, is 
done in one short hour. 

John said that I hadn't seen the half — when 

he puts it into his wheat, 
I shall see it reap and rake it, and put it in 

bundles neat; 
Then soon a Yankee will come along, and 

set to work and larn 
To reap it, and thresh it, and bag it up, and 

send it into the barn. 

John kinder laughed when he said it; but 
I said to the hired men, 

"I have seen so much on my pilgrimage 
through nii' threescore years and ten, 

That I wouldn't be surprised to see a rail- 
road in the air. 

Or a Yankee in a flyin' ship a-goin' most 
anywhere." 

There's a difference in the work I done, 

and the work my boj's now do; 
Steady and slow in tlie good old way, worry 

and fret in the new; 
But somehow I tliink there was happiness 

crowded into those toiling days. 
That the fast young men of the present will 

not see till they change their ways. 

To think that I ever should live to see work 

done in this wonderful way! 
Old tools are of little service now, and 

farmin* is almost play; 
The women have got their sewin'-machines, 

their wringers, and every sich tiling, 
.'Vnd now play croqi:et in the dooryard, or 

sit in the parlor and sing. 

'Twasn't you that had it so easy, 'wife, in 
the days so long gone by; 

You riz up early, and sat up late, atoilin' 
for you and I. 

There were co%vs to milk; there was but- 
ter to make; and many a day did you 
stand 

Awash in' my toil-stained garments and 
wringin' 'em out by hand. 

Ah! wife, our children will never see the 

hard work we have seen, 
For the heavy task and tlie long task is 

now done with a machine; 
No longer the noise of the scythe I hear, 

the mower — there! hear it afar? 
Arattlin' along through the tall, stout 

grass with the noise of a railroad car. 

Well! the old tools now are shoved away: 

they stand agatherin' rust. 
Like many an old man T have seen put 

aside with only a crust. 
When the eyes grow dim, when the step 

is weak, when the strength goes out 

nf his arm. 
The best thing a poor old man can do la 

to hold the deed of the farm. 



262 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



There is one old way that they can't im- 
prove, although it has been tried 

By men who have studied and studied, and 
worried till they died; 

It has shone undimmed for ages, like gold 
refined from its dross; 

It's the way to the kingdom of heaven, by 
the simple way of the cross. 

John H. Yates. 



THE TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

■WTio are the nobles of the earth. 

The true aristocrats, 
Who need not bow their heads to lords, 

Nor doff to kings their hats'' 
■Who are they but the men of toil, 

The mighty and the free, 
■Whose hearts and hands subdue the earth. 

And compass all the sea? 

Who are they but the men of toil. 

Who cleave the forest down 
And plant, amid the wilderness, 

The hamlet and the town; 
Who flght tlie battles, bear the scars, 

And give the world its crown 
Of name and fame and history 

And pomp of old renown? 

These claim no gaud of heraldry, 

And scorn the knighting rod; 
Their coats of arms are noble deeds; 

Their peerage ia from God. 
They take not from ancestral graves 

Tlie glory of their name, 
But win, as once their fathers won, 

The laurel wreath of fame. 



TRUE NOBILITY. 

What is noble? To inherit 

Wealth, estate, and proud degree? 
There must be some other merit 

Higher yet than these for me; 
Something greater far must enter 

Into life's majestic span. 
Fitted to create and center 

True nobility in man. 

Wlhat is noble? 'Tis the finer 

Portion of our mind and heart. 
Linked to something still diviner 

Than mere language can impart; 
Ever prompting, ever seeing. 

Some improvement yet to plan; 
To uplift our fellow being. 

And, like man, to feel for man. 

Wliat is noble? Is the saber 

Nobler than the humble spade? 
There's a ^lignity in labor. 

Truer than e'er pomp arrayed. 
He who seeks the mind's improvement 

Aids the world in aiding mind; 
Every great commanding movement 

Serves not one, but all mankind. 



O'er the forge's heat and ashes, 

O'er the engine's iron head, 
Where the rapid shuttle flashes. 

And the spindle whirls its thread, 
There is labor lowly tending 

Each requirement of the hour; 
There is genius still extending 

Science and its world of power. 

Mid the dust and speed and clamor 

Of the loom-shed and the mill. 
Midst the clink of wheel and hammer, 

Great results are growing still. 
Though too oft by Fashion's creatures 

Work and workers may be blamed. 
Commerce need not hide its features; 

Industry is not ashamed. 

AA'hat is noble? That which places 

Truth in its enfranchised will. 
Leaving steps like angel traces, 

That mankind may follow still. 
E'en though Scorn's malignant glances 

Prove him poorest of his clan. 
He's the noble who advances 

Freedom and the cause of man. 

Charles Swain. 



WORKING MAN S SONG. 

Who lacks for bread of daily work 
And his appointed task would shirk 
Commits a folly and a crime; 

A soulless slave, 

A partly knave, 
A clog upon the wheels of time. 
With work to do and stores of health, 
The man's unworthy to be free 

WHio will not give. 

That he may live, 
His daily toil for daily fee. 

No; let us work! We only ask 
Reward proportioned to our task; 
We have no quarrel with the great, 

No feud with rank. 

With mill or bank. 
No envy of a lord's estate. 
If we can earn sufficient store 
To satisfy our need. 

And can retain. 

For age and pain, 
A fraction, we are rich indeed. 

No dread of toil have we or ours; 
We know our worth, our weight, our pow- 
ers; 
The more we work, the more we win. 

Success to trade! 

Success to spade 
And to the corn that's coming in! 
And joy to him who, o'er his task, 
Remembers toil is nature's plan: 

WHio, working, thinks. 

And never sinks 
His independence as a man. 

Who only asks for humble wealth. 
Enough for competence and health. 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE. 



263 



And leisure when his work is done 

To read his book 

By chimney nook 
Or stroll at setting sun; 
Who toils, as every man should toil, 
For fair reward, erect and free — 

Tliese are the men, 

The best of men. 
These are the men we mean to be. 

Chas. Mackat. 



LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR. 

A good wife rose from her bed one morn, 

And thought, with a nervous dread. 
Of the piles of clothes to be washed and 
more 
Than a dozen mouths to be fed. 
"There's the meals to get for the men in 
the field, 
And the children to fix away 
To school, and the milk to be skimmed and 
churned; 
And all to be done this day." 

It had rained in the night, and all the wood 

Was wet as it could be: 
There were puddings and pies to bake be- 
sides 

A loaf of cake for tea; 
And the day was hot. and her aching head 

Throbbed wearily as she said, 
"If maidens but knew what good wives 
know. 

They would not be in haste to wed!" 

"Jennie, what do you think I told Ben 
Brown?" 

Called the farmer from the well; 
And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow. 

And his eyes half-bashfully fell; 
"It was this," he said, and coming near 

He smiled, and, stooping down. 
Kissed her cheek — " 'twas this, that you 
were the best 

And the dearest wife in town!" 

The farmer went back to the field, and the 
wife, 
In a smiling, absent way. 
Sang snatches of tender little songs 

She'd not sung for many a day; 
And the pain in her head was gone, and the 
clothes 
Were white as the foam of the sea; 
Her bread was light, and her butter was 
sweet. 
And as golden as it could be. 

"Just think!" the children all called in 
a breath, 

"Tom Wood has run off to sea! 
He wouldn't, I know, if he'd only had 

As happy a home as we." 
The nisht came down, and the good wife 
smiled 

To herself, as she softly said: 
*"Tis so sweet to labor for those we love — 

It's not strange that maids will wed!" 



A HOME PICTURE. 

Ben Fisher had finished his hard day's 
work. 

And he sat at his cottage door; 
His good wife, Kate, sat by his side; 

And the moonlight danced on the floor — 
The moonlight danced on the cottage floor; 

Her beams were clear and briglit 
As when he and Kate, twelve years before, 

Talked love in her mellow light. 

Ben Fisher had never a pipe of clay, 

And never a dram drank he; 
So he loved at home with his wife to stay, 

And they chatted right merrily — 
Right merrily chatted they on, the while 

Her babe slept on her breast. 
While a chubby rogue, with rosy smile. 

On his father's knee found rest. 

Ben told her how fast the potatoes grew. 

And the corn in the lower field; 
And the wheat on the hill was grown to 
seed 

And promised a glorious yield — 
A glorious yield in the harvest-time. 

And his orchard was doing fair; 
His sheep and his stock were in their prime. 

His farm all in good repair. 

Kate said that her garden looked beautiful. 

Her fowls and her calves were fat; 
That the butter that Tommy that morning 
churned 

Would buy him a Sunday hat; 
That Jennie for Pa a new shirt had made. 

And 'twas done, too, by the rule; 
That Neddy the garden could nicely spade, 

And Ann was ahead at school. 

Ben slowly raised his toil-worn hand 

Through his locks of grayish brown: 
"I tell you, Kate, what I think," said he; 

"We're the happiest folks in town." 
"I know," said Kate, "that we all work 
hard — 

Work and health go together, I've found; 
For there's Mrs. Bell does not work at all. 

And she's sick the whole year round. 

"They're worth their thousands, so people 
say. 

But I ne'er saw them happy yet; 
'Twould not be me that would take their 
gold, 

And live in a constant fret. 
My humble home has a light within, 

Mrs. Bell's gold could not buy — 
Six healthy children, a merry heart. 

And a husband's love-lit eye." 

I fancied a tear was in Ben's eye — 

The moon shone brighter and clearer; 
I could not tell why the man should cry, 

But he hitched up to Kate still nearer; 
He leaned his head on her shoulder there. 

And he took her hand in his; 
I guess (though I looked at the moon just 
then) 

That he left on her lips a kiss. 

Fbancis Dana Gags. 



264 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



TOIL, 

Work, and the hours are fleeter; 

Work, and the heart hath song; 
Every life is nobler, sweeter, 

That shall labor long. 

Toll, and the cares are lighter. 

Toil, and a joy is born; 
Every life is gentler, brighter, 

That sood deeds adorn. 

Do, and thy faith grows stronger; 

Do, and thy hope shall soar; 
Every life is wiser, long-er. 

That hath dreams in store. 

Love, and thy friends draw nearer; 

Love, and the world is right: 
Every life sees heaven clearer. 

Led by love's dear light. 

Loving and doing and toiling! 

These are th.e magic Three 
Fates that are ever foiling 

Death for you and me. 

Chaoles W. Stevensok. 



THE SABBATH. 

How still the morning of tlie hallowed day! 
Mute is the voice of rural labor; hushed 
The ploughboy's whistle and the milkmaid's 

song: 
Tlie scythe lies glittering in the dewy 

wreath 
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flow- 
ers 
That yestermorn bloomed waving in the 

breeze; 
Sounds the most faint attract the ear — the 

hum 
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew. 
The distant bleating mid-way up the hill — 
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving 

cloud. 
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas. 
The blackbird's note comes mellower from 

tha dale. 
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome 

lark 
Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the hilling 

brook 
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn 

glen: 
Wliile from yon lowly roof, whose curling 

smoke 
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals. 
The voice of psalms, the simple song of 

praise. 
With dove-like wings. Peace o'er yon vil- 
lage broods: 
The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's 

din 
Hath ceased: all, all around is quietness. 
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare 
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and 

looks on man. 



Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, 

set free, 
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large; 
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls. 
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning 

ray. 
But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. 
Hail, Sabbath! thee I l.ail, the poor man's 

day. 
On other days the man of toll is doomed 
To eat his joyless bread, lonely: the ground 
Both seat and board; screened from the 

winter's cold 
And summer's heat by neighboring hedge 

or tree; 
But on this day, embosomed in his home, 
He shares the frugal meal with those he 

loves; 
With those he loves he shares the heart- 
felt Joy 
Of giving thanks to God — not thanks of 

form, 
A word and a grimace, but reverently. 
With covered face and upward earnest eye 
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor 

man's day. 
The pale meclianic now lias leave to breathe 
The morning air, pure from the city's 

smoke. 
Wliile wandering slowly up the riverside. 
He meditates on Him whose power he 

marks 
In each green tree that proudly spreads the 

bough. 
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
Around its root; and while he thus sur- 
veys. 
With elevated joy, each rural charm. 
He hopes, yet fears presumption in the 

hope. 
That heaven may be one Sabbath without 

end. 

James Grahamb. 



WHEN THE COWS COME HOME. 

I love the beautiful evening 

When the sunset clouds are gold: 
When the barn-fowls seek a shelter, 

And the young lambs seek their fold; 
When the four-o'clocks are open, 

And the swallows homeward come; 
When the horses cease their labors. 

And the cows come home; 

Wben the supper's almost ready, 

And Johnny is asleep. 
And I beside the cradle 

My pleasant vigil keep. 
Sitting beside the window. 

Watching for "Pa" to come. 
While the soft bells gently tinkle 

As the cows come home. 

When the sunset and the twilight 

In mingling hues are bent, 
I can sit and watch the shadows 

With my full heart all content; 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE. 



265 



And 1 wish for notliing brighter, 
And 1 long no more to roam 

When the twilight's peace comes o'er me, 
And the cows come home. 

I see their shadows lengthen 

As they slowly cross the field, 
And I know the food is wholesome 

^\niich their generous udders yield. 
More than the tropic's fruitage 

Than marble hall or dome 
Are the blessings that surround me 

When the cows come home. 

Maby E. Nealet. 



TO LABOR IS TO PEIAY. 

Pause not to dream of the future before us; 
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come 

o'er us; 
Hark how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 

Unintermitting, goes up into heaven! 

Never the ocean- wave falters in flowing; 

Never the little seed stops in its growing; 

More and more richly the rose-heart keeps 

glowing, 

Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 

"Labor is worship!" the robin is singing: 

"Labor is worship!" the wild bee is ring- 
ing; 

Listen! that eloquent whisper, upspring- 
ing, 

Speaks to thy soul from out nature's great 
heart. 

From the dark cloud flows the life-giving 
shower 

From the rough sod blows the soft-breath- 
ing flower; 

From the small insect, the rich coral bower; 
Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his 
part. 

Labor is life! 'Tis tl'e still water faileth; 

Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; 

Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust 
assailetli ; 
Flowers droop and die in the stillness, of 
noon. 

Labor is glory! The flying cloud lightens; 

Only the waving wing changes and bright- 
ens; 

Idle hearts only the dark future frightens; 
Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep 
them in tune. 

Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet 
us; 

Rest from all petty vexations that meet us: 

Rest from sin-promptinKs that ever en- 
treat us: 
Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. 

Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy 
pillow: 

Work — tliou Shalt ride over Care's coming 
billow: 

Lie not down wearied 'neatli Woe's weep- 
ing willow; 
Work with a stout heart and resolute 
will! 



Labor is health! Lo, the husbandman rt-ap- 
ing; 

How through his veins goes the life-cur- 
rent leaping! 

How his strong arm in its stalworth pride 
sweeping. 
True as a sunbeam the swift sickle 
guides! 

Labor is wealth! In the sea tlie pearl 
groweth; 

Rich the queen's robe from the frail co- 
coon floweth ; 

From the fine acorn the strong forest blow- 
eth; 
Temple and statue the marble block 
hides. 

Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish 

are round thee! 
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath 

bound thee! 
Look to the pure heaven smiling beyond 
thee! 
Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod! 
Work for some good, be it ever so slowly! 
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly! 
Labor! — all labor is noble and holy; 

Let thy great deed be thy prayer to thy 
God. 

Fbances S. Osgood. 



TOILS GRANDEUR. 

Toil, and the arm grows strong; 

Sluggards are ever weak. 
Toil, and the earth gives forth 

Riches to those tliat seek. 
Toil, and the eye grows keen; 
Sure is the woodman's stroke; 
With skill the craftsman molds 
Wonders from steel and rock. 
Not from the idler's dream 
Flows yonder miller's stream, 
Nor from the braggart's boast 
Gleams yonder guarded coast. 

Toil, and the heart grows light. 

Trembles tlie earth with song, 
Flowing in thrilling notes, 

From the vast toiling throng; 
Up from the plains of waste 

Cities triumphant loom; 
\\'here the fierce panther crouched 
Gardens of beauty bloom. 
Not from the striker's moan 
Have our grea- wastes been sown. 
Nor from the coward's gun 
Did the fierce savage run. 

Toil, and the mind grows clear 

To the great work of God; 
Flow'rs of contentment spring, 

Bright'ning our earthen road; 
Dearer becomes the land 

That we so proudly till; 
Stouter our bulwarks loom. 

Daring invading skill. 
Not in the lawless hind 

Can we a patriot find. 



266 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Nor with the godless band 
Dare we intrust our land. 

Ever a nation's boast — 
Bulwarks around her coast; 
Ever a country's gain — 
Toilers with hands or brain. 

James 1*. Broomfield. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

TJnder a spreading chestnut-tree 
The village smithy stands: 

The smith, a mighty man is he, 
With large and sinewy hands; 

And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 



■Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
Tou can hear his bellows blow; 

Tou can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
'U^'ith measured beat and slow, 

Like sexton ringing the village bell 
Wlien the evening sun is low. 



Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowin.g. 
Onward through life he goes; 

Each morning sees some task begun. 
Each evening sees its close; 

Something attempted, something done. 
Has earned a niglit's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



FAREWELL TO THE KITCHEN. 

Good-by, Kitchen, faithful Kitchen! 

I have come to say farewell. 
I've enjoyed our work together 

More than I can ever tell. 
■We've been friends both tried and tested; 

To each other we've been true; 

But the hour has come for parting; 

I must bid you now adieu. 
Faithfully we've toiled together. 

Dear old comrade, you and I; 
Our relation to each other 

Has been close in days gona by; 

For the one without the other 

Would be useless — this we know — 

And we love to work together — 
This we very plainly show. 

I have seen you in great trouble. 
Covered o'er with stain and dirt; 



And your tables, stove, and benches 

Were no better, I assert. 
I was glad when soap and water 

Took effect upon your face; 
For the changing of your color 

Made you quite a different place. 

If you had the power to tell me 
What has happened in your sight. 

You could speak of scenes of action 
Both of early morn and night; 

You could tell of cooks and cooking 
And of workers and of work. 

And of all the willing service 

Offered there, but naught of shirk. 

Things too numerous to mention 
You could tell me — this I know — ■ 

But my service here is ended. 
And my time has come to go. 

I shall miss you, I am certain, 
But I feel too .glad to sigh. 

So with haste I draw the ourtain, 
And I once more say, Good-by. 

Ruth Criswell Monteith. 



THE FARMER S WIFE. 

Bird-like slie's up at day-dawn's blush, 

In summer heats or winter snows — 
Her veins with healthful blood aflush. 

Her breath of balm, her cheek a rose, 
In eyes — the kindest eyes on earth — 
Are sparkles of a homely mirth; 
All vanislied is the brief eclipse! 
Hark! to the sound of wedded lips. 
And words of tender warmth that start 
From out the husband's grateful heart! 
Oh, well he knows liow vain is life 
Unsweetened by the farmer's wife. 

But lo! the height of pure delight 

Comes with the evening's stainless joys. 
When by the hearthstone spaces bright 

Blend the glad tones of girls and boys. 
Their voices rise in gleeful swells. 
Their laughter rings like elfln bells. 
Till with a look 'twixt smile and frown 
The mother lays her infant down. 
And at her firm, uplifted hand. 
There's silence mid the jovial band; 
Demure, arch humor's ambush in 
The clear curves of her dimpled chin. 
Ah! guileless creature, hale and good, 
Ah! fount of wholesome womanhood. 
Far from the world's unhallowed strife! 
God's blessing on the farmer's wife. 

I love to mark her matron charms. 

Her fearless steps through household 
ways, 

Her sun-burnt hands and buxom arms. 
Her waist unbound by torturing stays. 

Blithe as a bee, with busy care 

She's here, she's there, she's everywhere; 

Long ere the clock has struck for noon 

Home chords of toil are all in tune; 

And from each richly bounteous hour 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE. 



267 



She drains its use, as bees a flower. 
Apart from passion's pain and strife, 
Peace gently girds the farmer's wife! 

Homeward (his daily labors done) 

The stalwart farmer slowly plods. 
From battling, between shade and sun, 
■V\"lth sullen glebe and stubborn sods. 
Her welcome on his spirit bowed 
Is sunshine flashing on a cloud! 
Her signal stills their harmless strife — 
Love crowns with law the farmer's wife! 

Te dames in proud, palatial halls — 
Of lavish wiles and jeweled dress. 
On whom, perchance, no infant calls, 
(For barren oft your loveliness) — 
Turn hitherward those languid eyes 
And for a moment's space be wise; 
Your sister mid the country dew 
Is three times nearer heaven than you, 
And where the palms of Eden stir, 
Dream not that ye shall stand by her. 
Though in your false, bewildering life. 
Tour folly scorned the farmer's wife! 

Paul H.imilton Hatnb. 



YOUR MISSION. 

If you can not on the ocean 

Sail among the swiftest fleet, 
Rocking on the highest billows, 

Laughing at the storms you meet, 
Tou can stand among the sailors 

Anchored yet within the bay, 
Tou can lend a hand to help them 

As they launch their boats away. 

If you are too weak to journey 

tJp the mountain steep and high, 
Tou can stand within the valley, 

■OTiile the multitudes go by, 
Tou can chant in happy measure 

As they slowly pass along: 
Though they may forget the singer, 

They will not forget the song. 

If you have not gold and silver 

Ever ready to command. 
If you can not towards the needy 

Reach an ever-open hand, 
Tou can visit the afllicted. 

O'er the erring you can weep, 
Tou can be a true disciple. 

Sitting at the Savior's feet. 

If you can not in the conflict 

Prove yourself a soldier true. 
If where fire and smoke are thickest 

There's no work for you to do, 
■When the battle-field is silent, 

Tou can go with careful tread, 
Tou can bear away the wounded, 

Tou can cover up the dead. 

Do not, then, stand idly waiting 
For some greater work to do; 

Fortune is a lazy goddess. 
She will never come to you. 



Go and toil in any vineyard. 

Do not fear to do or dare; 
If you want a field of labor, 

Tou can find it anywhere. 

Ellen M. H. Gates. 



THE SONG OF STEAM. 

Harness me down with your iron bands. 

Be sure of your curb and rein; 
For I scorn the strength of your puny 
hands 

As a tempest scorns a chain. 
How I laughed as I lay concealed from 
sight 

For many a countless hour, 
At the childish boasts of human might, 

And the pride of human power! 

■^'hen I saw an army upon the land, 

A navy upon the seas. 
Creeping along, a snail-like band, 

Or waiting the wayward breeze; 
■Rlien I marked the peasant faintly reel 

■V\'ith the toil that he daily bore, 
As he feebly turned the tardy wheel. 

Or tugged at the weary oar; 

■Wlien I measured the panting courser's 
speed. 

The flight of the carrier-dove. 
As they bore the law a king decreed. 

Or the lines of impatient love, — 
I could but think how the world would feel. 

As these were outstripped afar, 
■VVlien I should be bound to the rushing 
keel. 

Or chained to the flying car. 

Ha! ha! ha! they fopnd me at last; 

They invited me forth at length. 
And I rushed to my throne with a thunder 
blast. 

And laughed in my iron strength! 
Oh, then ye saw a wondrous change 

On the earth and ocean wide, 
Where now my fiery armies range, 

Nor wait for wind or tide! 

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er. 

The mountain's steep decline; 
Time — space — have yielded to my power; 

The world, the world is mine! 
The rivers the sun hath earliest blest 

Or tliose where his beams decline. 
The giant streams of the queenly West 

Or the giant Orient floods divine. 

The ocean pales wherever I sweep 

To hear my strength rejoice. 
And monsters of the briny deep 

Cower trembling at my voice. 
I carry the wealth of the lord of earth. 

The thoughts of his godlike mind; 
The wind lags after my going forth, 

The lightning is left behind. 

In the darksome depths of the fathomless 
mine 
My tireless arm doth play. 



268 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's de- 
cline 

Or the dawn of the glorious day; 
I bring earth's glittering jewels up 

From the hidden caves below, 
And 1 make the fountain's granite cup 

■With a crystal gush o'erllow, 

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel. 

In all the sliops of trade: 
I hammer tlie ore and turn the wheel 

■Wliere my arms of strength are made; 
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint; 

I carry, I spin, I weave. 
And all my doings I put into print 

On every Saturday eve. 

I've no muscles to weary, no brains to de- 
cay. 
No bones to be laid on the shelf; 
And soon I intend you may go and play. 

While I manage the world myself. 
But harness me down with your iron bands, 

Be sure of your curb and rein; 
For I scorn the strength of your puny 
hands 
As the tempest scorns the chain. 

Geobgq W. Cutter. 



ME AND MINE. 

The earth is full nf treasures 

That men go far to seek; 
There are diamonds in the valley. 

There is gold on mountain peak; 
There are palaces of splendor. 

Filled with jewels rare and fine; 
But among these rich surroundings 

You'll find neither me nor mine. 

Some dwell in high positions, 

With servants at command, 
With riches as their portion — • 

The magnates of the land; 
And from their lofty stations 

'Tis seldom they incline 
To pass a word of greeting 

To either me or mine. 

For we are working people, 

And are busy all the day; 
Have little time for reading, 

Have little time for play. 
But at our humble fortunes 

'Tis useless to repine. 
For He who rules the world must know 

What's best for me and mine. 

So with contented spirits 

Wa toil from day to day. 
Rejoiced to be together. 

And sad when one's away. 
And always at our table. 

Wit takes the place of wine. 
And friends come very often 

To sit with me and mine. 

And so we're never lonely 

Throughout the whole long year; 



Our hearts are full of sunsliine. 
Our liomes are full of cheer. 

And though our richer neighbors 
In halls of splendor shine, 

I'm sure there must be reasons 
When they envy me and mine. 

Josephine Pollard. 



THE FELLOWSHIP OF TOIL. 

I have to toil, but so did He, 

The lowly Nazarene, 
Who trod the shores of Galilee 

Unruffled and serene. 
I may not sit, as some men do, 

Behind rich palace .gates, 
Unmindful of the beggar who 

Beside the pillar waits. 
Each day that dawns but brings to me 

The same old toilsome round. 
The same old struggle to be free. 

And night still finds me bound. 
I see the rich ride proudly by, 

I read of them at play 
Upon the grassy slopes, while I 

Must ever toil away. 
I may not have the joys I crave; 

The dawn but lights me to 
My narrow pathway to the grave 

And work that I must do! 
I have to toil — but so did He 

Who bore his cross to Calvary! 



EVERY-DAY. 

Oh, thousand thankless tasks of every-day 

Wliich are renewed with every rising sun! 
Oh, many burdens carried on our way 

Until life's weary pilgrimage is done! 
But now and then a cheerful, kindly tone 

Gives us new strength to plod life's nar- 
row path. 
And tired hearts and minds are by it shown 

Wliat pleasantness 'neath common cares 
it hath. 

It seems as if we waste our precious 
strengtli 
In tiresome walk through commonplace 
routine; 
If but our steps were placed in one great 
length, 
Wliat far oft countries would our eyes 
h a ve seen ! 
But we'd liave found that there as well as 
here 
Man walks through trifling round of lil- 
tlo things; 
And if ambition's whisper charm his ear. 
Its import's lost in tasks that duty 
brings. 

The glory of the martyr's holy crown 

Sheds no reflection on the toiler's brow. 
Nor hero's dear-bought name or sweet re- 
nown 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE. 



269 



Lend luster to the conquered cares of 
now. 
For patience, then, to meet the coming: foe. 
The tiny, vexing cares and frets we pray. 
So strong and humble-liearted we may go 
To battle with the foes of every-day! 

Eva Best. 



THE HERITAGE. 

The rich man's son inherits lands 

And piles of brick and stone and gold, 

And he inherits soft, white hands. 
And tender flesh tliat fears the cold, 
Nor dares to wear a garment old — 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

One would not caro to hold in fee. 

The rich man's son inherits cares: 

The bank may break, the factory burn. 

Some breath may burst his bubble shares; 
And soft, white hands would hardly earn 
A living that would suit his turn — 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One would not care to hold in fee. 

The rich mans son inherits wants: 
His stomach craves fnr dainty fare; 

■V\'ith sated heart, he hears the pants 
Of toiling hands with brown arms bare. 
And wearies in his easy chair — • 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One would not care to hold in fee. 

What does the poor man's son inherit? 

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; 

King of two hands, he does his part 

In every useful toil and art — ■ 
A heritage, it seems to me. 
A king might wisli to liold in fee. 

What does the poor man's son inherit? 
Wishes o'erjoyed with Iiumble things, 

A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit. 

Content that from employment sprinss^, 
A heart that in liis labor sings — 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

■What does the poor man's son inherit? 
A patience learned by being poor; 

Courage, if sorrow comes, to bear it; 
A fellow feeling that is sure 
To make the outcast bless his door — 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

O rich man's son! there is a toil 
That with all other level stands; 

Large charity doth never soil. 

But only whitens, soft, white hands; 
That is the best crop from the lands — 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

Worth being rich to hold in fee. 

O poor man's son, scorn not thy state! 

There is worse weariness than thine, 
In merely being rich and great; 



Work only makes tlie soul to shine. 
And makes rest fragrant and benign — 
A heritage, it seems to me. 
Worth being poor to hold in fee. 

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, 
Are equal in the earth at last; 

Both children of the same dear God; 
Prove title to your heirship vast. 
By record of a well-filled past — 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

Well worth a life to hold in fee. 

James Russell Lowell. 



THE COUNTRY LIFE. 

Sweet country life, to sucli unknown 

WTiose lives are others', not their own; 

But, serving courts and cities, be 

Less happy, less enjoying thee. 

Thou never plow'st the ocean's foam 

To seek and bring rough pepper home; 

Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove. 

To bring from thence the scorched clove; 

Nor, with the loss of tliy love's rest, 

Bring'st home the ingot from the West: 

No, thy ambitious masterpiece 

Flies no tliought higher than a fleece; 

Or to pay thy hinds, and cleere 

All scores, and so to end tlie yeare: 

But walk'st about thine own dear bounds. 

Not envying others' larger grounds; 

For well thou know'st, 'tis not the extent 

Of land makes life, but sweet content. 

When now the cock, the plowman's home. 

Calls forth the lily-wristed morne; 

Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go. 

Which, though well soyl'd, yet thou dost 

know 
That the best compost for the lands 
Is the wise master's feet and hands: 
There at the plow thou find'st thy teame, 
With a hind whistling there to them; 
And cheer'st them up, by singing how 
The kingdom's portion is the plow; 
This done, then to the enameled meads 
Thou go'st, and as thy foot there treads, 
Thou seest a present godlike power 
Imprinted in each herbe and flower; 
And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine. 
Sweet as the blossoms of the vine: 
Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat 
Unto the dewlaps up in meat; 
And as thou look'st. the wanton steere. 
The heifer, cow, and oxe draw neare. 
To make a pleasing pastime there: 
These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks 
Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox. 
And find'st their bellies there as full 
Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool; 
And leav'st them, as they feed and fill, 
A shepherd piping on a hill. 



To these thou hast thy times to goe, 

And trace the hare i' the treacherous snow; 

Thy witty wiles to draw and get 

The larke into the trammel net; 

Thou hast thy cockrood and thy glade 

To take the precious plieasant made; 



270 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls then 
To catch the pilfering- birds, not men. 
O happy life! if that their good 
The husbandmen but understood; 
Who all the day themselves to please. 
And younglings, with such sports as these; 
And, lying down, have nought to affright 
Sweet sleep, that makes more short the 
night. 

ROBEHT HEEEICK. 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 

With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 

She sang the "Song of the Shirt!" 

"Work! work! work 

WSiile the cock is crowing aloof! 
And work — work — work 

Till the stars shine through the roof! 
It's oh, to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save. 

If this is Christian work! 

"Work — work — work 

Till the brain begins to swim! 
Work — work — work 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim! 
Seam and gusset and band, 
Band and gusset and seam — 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep. 

And sew them on in a dream! 

"O men with sisters dear! 

O men with mothers and wives! 
It is not linen you're wearing out, 

But human creatures' lives! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch, 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt — ■ 
Sewing at once, with a double thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt. 

"But why do I talk of death — ■ 

That phantom of grisly bone? 
I hardly fear his terrible shape, 

It seems so like my own — 

It seems so like my own 

Because of the fasts I keep; 
O God! that bread should be so dear. 

And flesh and blood so cheap! 

"Work — work — work! 

My labor never flags; 
And what are its wages? A bed of straw, 

A crust of bread — and rags. 
That shattered roof — and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank my shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there! 

"Work — work — work 

From weary chime to chime! 



Work — work — work 

As prisoners work for crime! 
Band and gusset and seam. 

Seam and gusset and band, 
Till the heart is sick and the brain be- 
numbed. 

As well as the weary hand. 

"\\'ork — work — work 

In the dull December light! 
And work — work — work 

Wnien the weather is warm and bright! 
Wliile underneath tlie eaves 

The brooding swallows cling, 
As if to show me their sunny backs. 

And twit me with the Spring. 

"Oh, but to breathe the breatli 

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet. 
With the sky above my head, 

And the grass beneath my feet! 
For only one short hour 

To feel as I used to feel. 
Before I knew tlie woes of want 

And the walk that costs a meal! 

"Oh, but for one short hour — 

A respite, however brief! 
No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

But only time for grief! 
A little weeping would ease my heart; 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 

Hinders needle and thread!" 

With fingers weary and worn, 

"V^'ith eyelids lieavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt; 
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch — 
■Wtould that its tone could reach the rich! — 

She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" 

Thomas Hood. 



LITTLE BROWN HANDS. 

[This poem was written when its autlior was in 
her tliirteeutli year. ] 

They drive home the cows from the pas- 
ture, 
Up through the long, shady lane. 
Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat- 
fields. 
That are yellow with ripening grain. 
They find in the thick, waving grasses. 
Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry 
grows. 
And gather the earliest snowdrops 

And the first crimson buds of the rose. 

They toss the new hay in the meadow; 

They gather the elder-bloom white; 
They find where the dusky grapes purple 

In the soft-tinted October light; 
They know where the apples hang ripest 

And are sweeter than Italy's wines; 
They know where the fruit hangs the thick- 
est 

On the long, thorny blackberry-vines. 



LABOR AND RURAL LIFE. 



271 



They gather the delicate seaweeds 

And build tiny castles of sand; 
They pick up the beautiful seashells — 

Fairy barks that have drifted to land. 
They wave from the tall, rocking tree-tops, 

T\niere the oriole's hammock-nest swings; 
And at night-time are folded in slumber 

By a song that a fond mother sings. 

Those who toil bravely are strongest; 

The humble and poor become great; 
And so from these brown-handed children 

Shall grow mighty rulers of state. 
The pen of the author and statesman — 

The noble and wise of the land — 
The sword and the chisel and palette 

Shall be held in the little brown hand. 
MiEl- H. KRunT. 



FARMER GRAY. 

Tou may envy the joys o' the farmer, 

An' talk o' his free, easy life; 
Tou may sit at his bountiful table, 

An' praise his industrious wife: 
Ef you worked in the woods in the winter. 

Or follered the furrow all day, 
With a team o' unruly young oxen. 

An' feet heavy-loaded with clay — 
Ef you held the old plow, I'm thinkin' 

You'd sing in a different way. 

Tou may dream o' the white-crested daisies 

An' lilies that wear such a charm; 
But it gives me a heap o' hard labor 

To keep them from spoilin' my farm. 
Tou may picter the skies in their splendor. 

The landscapes so full o' repose. 
But I never git time to look at 'em, 

Except when it rains or it snows. 
Tou may sing o' the song-birds o' summer; 

I'll tend to the hawks and the crows. 

Tou may write o' the beauties o" natur', 

An' dwell on the pleasures o' toil; 
But the good tilings we hev on our table 

All hev to be dug from the soil, 
An' our beautiful bright golden butter. 

Perhaps you never hev learned, 
Makes a pile o' hard work for the wimmin- - 

It has to be cheerily churned. 
An' the cheeses, so plump in the pantry, 

All hev to be lifted and turned. 

When home from the hay-field, in summer, 

AVith stars gleaming over my head; 
■When I milk by the light o' my lantern. 

An' wearily crawl into bed; 
When I think o' the work o' the morrow. 

An' worry for fear it might rain. 
While I list to the roll o' the thunder. 

An' hear my companion complain; 
Then it seems as if life were a burden, 

With leetle to hope fur or gain. 

But the corn must be planted in spring- 
time. 
The weeds must be kept from the ground, 



An' the hay must be cut in the meader, 

The wheat must be cradled an' bound- 
Fur we are never out of employment. 

Except when we lie in the bed — 
An' the wood must be chopped in the win- 
ter. 

An' patiently piled in the shed. 
An' the grain must be hauled to tlie market, 

The stock must be watered and fed. 

But the farmer depends upon only 

The generous bounty o" God, 
An' he always is sure o' a livin' 

By turnin' an' tillin' the sod. 
When his wearisome work is all over. 

With conscience all spotless and clear. 
He may leave the old farm-house forever. 

To dwell in a holier sphere; 
An' the crown that he wears may be 
brighter. 

Because o' his simple life here. 



THE WOLVES, 

Ye who listen to stories told 

Wlnen hearths are cheery and nights are 

cold. 
Of the lone wood-side, and the hungry pack 
That howls on tlie fainting traveler's track — 
Flame-red eye-balls that waylay. 
By the wintry moon, the belated sleigh — 
The lost child sought in the dismal wood. 
The little shoes and the stains of blood 
On the trampled snow — O ye that hear, 
With thrills of pity or chills of fear, 
"U'ishing some angel had been sent 
To shield the hapless and innocent. 
Know ye the fiend that is cruder far 
Than the gaunt, gray herds of the forest 

are? 

Swiftly vanish the wild, fleet tracks 
Before the rifle and woodman's ax; 
But hark to the coming of unseen feet. 
Pattering by night through the city street! 
Each wolf that dies in the woodland brown 
Lives a specter and haunts the town. 
By square and market they slink and prowl. 
In lane and alley they leap and liowl; 
All night they snuff and snarl before 
The poor patched window and broken door; 
They paw the clapboards and claw the latch; 
At every crevice they whine and scratch. 
Their tongues are subtle and long and thin. 
And they lap the living blood within; 
Icy keen are the teeth that tear. 
Red as ruin the eyes that glare. 
Children crouched in corners cold 
Shiver in tattered garments old. 
And start from sleep with bitter pangs 
At the touch of the phantoms' viewless 
fangs. 

Weary the mother, and worn with strife: 
Still she watches and fights for life. 
But her hand is feeble, her weapon small — 
One little needle against them all! 



272 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



O ye that listen to stories told 

When hearths are cheery and nights are 

cold, 
Weep no more at the tales you hear; 
The danger is close, and the wolves are 

near! 
Pass not by, with averted eye. 
The door where the stricken children cry; 
But when the beat of the unseen feet 
Sounds by night through the stormy street, 
Follow thou where the specters glide; 
Stand like Hope by the mother's side; 
And be thyself the angel sent 
To shield the hapless and innocent. 

He gives but little who gives his tears; 
He gives his best who aids and cheers. 
He does well in the forest wild 
WHio slays the monster and saves the child; 
But he does better, and merits more, 
W"ho drives the wolf from the poor man'.s 
door. 



FARM-YARD SONG. 

Over the hill the farm-boy goes: 

His shadow lengthens along the land — 

A giant staff in giant hand; 

In the poplar-treo above the spring 

The katydid begins to sing; 

The early dews are falling; 
Into tlie stone-heap darts the mink. 
The swallows skim the river's brink. 
And home to tlie woodland fly the crows, 
Wlien over tlie hill the farm-boy goes, 

Cheerily calling, 

"Co', boss! CO', boss! co'! co'! co'!" 
Farther, farther, over the hill, 
Faintlj' calling, calling still — 

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!" 

Into the yard the farmer goes. 

With grateful heart, at the close of day; 

Harness and chain are hung away; 



In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plough; 
The straw's in the stack, the hay in the 
mow; 

The cooling dews are falling; 
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat. 
The pigs come grunting to his feet, 
The whinnying mare her master knows, 
W^hen into the yard the farmer goes. 

His cattle calling, 

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" 
While still the cowboy, far away. 
Goes seeking those that have gone astray — 

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!" 

Now to her task the milkmaid goes: 

The cattle come crowding through the gate. 

Lowing, pushing, little and great; 

About the trough, by the farm-yard pump. 

The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump, 

While the pleasant dews are falling; 
The new milch heifer is quick and shy. 
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye; 
And the white stream into the bright i.all 

flows, 
Wlien to her task the milkmaid goes. 

Soothingly calling, 

"So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so!" 
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool. 
And sits and milks in the twilight cool. 

Saying, "So, so, boss! so! so!" 

To supper at last the farmer goes: 
The apples are pared, the paper read. 
The stories are told, then all to bed; 
Without, the cricket's ceaseless song 
Makes shrill the silence all night long; 

The heavy dews are falling; 
The housewife's hand has turned the lock; 
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock; 
The household sinks to deep repose. 
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes 

Singing, calling, 

"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" 
And oft the milkmaid, in her dreams, 
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams. 

Murmuring, "So, boss! so!" 

J. T. TEOWBBIDaB. 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM. 



275 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM 



HATE OF THE BOWL. 

[The answer of a young lady who was told that 
she was a monomaniac In her hatred of alcoholic 
liquors.] 

Go, feel what I have felt; 

Go, bear what I have borne; 
Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt, 

And the cold, proud world's scorn; 
Thus struggle on from year to year, 
Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go, weep as I have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall; 
See every cherished promise swept. 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall; 
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way 
That led me up to woman's day. 

Go, kneel as I have knelt; 

Implore, beseech, and pray, 
Strive the besotted heart to melt. 

The downward course to stay; 
Be cast, with bitter curse, aside — 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 

Go, stand where I have stood. 

And see the strong man bow. 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood. 

And cold and livid brow; 
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirrored, his soul's misery. 

Go. hear what I have heard — 

The sobs of sad despair, 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred. 

And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been 
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen. 

Go to my mother's side. 

And her crushed spirit cheer; 
Thine own deep anguish hide. 

Wipe from her cheek the tear; 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow. 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now, 
The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Wliose plighted faith, in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth. 
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup. 
And led her down from love and light. 
From all that made her pathway bright, 
And chained her there mid want and strife. 
That lowly thing — a drunkard's wife! 
And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild. 
That withering blight — a drunkard's child! 

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul hath felt and known, 

Then look within the wine-cup's glow; 
See if its brightness can atone; 

Think if its flavor you would try 

If all proclaimed, 'Tis drink and die. 

Tell me I hate the bowl — 
Hate is a feeble word; 



I loathe, abhor, my very soul 
By strong disgust is stirred 
Wliene'er I see or hear or tell 
Of that dark beverage of hell! 



WANTED. 

Men of honor, men of might; 
Men who boldly stand for right; 
Men who scorn to tell a lie; 
Men whom money can not buy; 
Men who never take a drink, 
But from liquor always shrink; 
Men who never learned to smoke; 
Men who do not always croak; 
Men who know just what to say, 
Where to say it and the way; 
Men whom politics won't spoil; 
And their reputations soil; 
Men who do not cringe to power; 
Men — they're wanted every hour. 

Nkllib Linn. 



THE PRICE OF A DRINK. 

"Five cents a glass!" Does any one think. 
That is really the price of a drink? 
"Five cents a glass," I hear you say; 
"^^^ly, that isn't very much to pay." 
Ah, no, indeed! 'tis a very small sum 
You are passing over 'twixt finger and 

thumb; 
And if that were all you gave away, 
It wouldn't be very much to pay. 

The price of a drink? Let him decide 
WTio has lost his courage, and lost his 

pride. 
And lies a groveling heap of clay. 
Not far removed from a beast, today. 

The price of a drink? Let that one tell 
Who sleeps tonight in a murderer's cell, 
And feels within him the fires of hell. 
Honor and virtue, love and truth, 
All the glory and pride of youth, 
Hopes of manhood, and wreath of fame. 
High endeavor, and noble aim, — 
These are the treasures thrown away 
As the price of a drink from day to day. 

"Five cents a glass!" How Satan laughed 
As over the bar the young man quaffed 
The beaded liquor! for the demon knew 
The terrible work that drink would do. 
And ere the morning, the victim lay 
■With his life-blood swiftly ebbing away; 
And that was the price he paid, alas! 
For the pleasure of taking a social glass. 

The price of a drink! If you want to know 
WTiat some are willing to pay for it, go 
Through the wretched tenement over there. 



276 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



■VVith clingy windows and brolfen stair, 
"WHiere foul disease like a vampire crawls 
With outstretched wings o'er the moldy 

walls. 
There poverty dwells with her hungry 

brood, 
TVild-eyed as demons for lack of food; 
There shame, in a corner, crouches low; 
There violence deals its cruel blow; 
And innocent ones are thus accursed 
To pay the price of another's thirst. 
"Five cents a glass!" Oh, if that were all. 
The sacrifice would, indeed, be small; 
But the money's worth is the least amount 
We pay, and, whoever will keep account, 
Will learn the terrible waste and blight 
That follow the ruinous appetite. 
"Five cents a glass! " Does any one think 
That that is really the price of a drink? 
JosEPHiNH Pollard. 



IF I KNEW. 

If, sitting with his little worn-out shoe 
And scarlet stocking lying on my knee, 
I knew the little feet had pattered through 
The pearl-set gates that lie 'twixt heaven 
and me, 
I could be reconciled and happy too. 

And look with glad eyes toward the jas- 
per sea. 

If, in the morning, when the song of birds 
Remind me of music far more sweet, 

I listen for his pretty broken words 
And for the music of his dimpled feet. 

I could be almost happy, though I heard 
No answer and but saw his vacant seat. 

I could be glad if, when the day is done 
And all its cares and heartaches laid 
away, 
I could look westward to the hidden sun 
And with a heart full of sweet yearning 
say, 
"Tonight I'm nearer to my little one 
By just the travel of a single day." 

If I could know those little feet were shod 
In sandals wrought of light in better 
lands. 
And that the footprints of a tender God 
Ran side by side with his in golden 
sands, 
I could bow cheerfully and kiss the rod. 
Since Charlie was in wiser, safer hands. 

If he were dead I would not sit today 
And stain with tears the wee sock on my 
knee; 
I would not kiss the tiny shoe and say, 

"Bring back ray little boy to me"; 
I would be patient, knowing 'twas God's 
way. 
And that he'd lead me to him o'er death's 
silent sea. 

But oh! to know the feet once pure and 
white 



The haunts of vice have boldly ventured 
in 
The hands that should have battled for the 
right 
Have been wrung crimson in the clasp of 
sin! 
And should he knock at heaven's gate to- 
night 
I fear my boy could hardly enter in. 



WHERE GIRLS CAN NOT GO. 

[While much is said to elevate the life and charac- 
ter of the girl, let us not forget that the bo.v also is 
in danger. By precept and warning and b.v pure ex- 
aiiiple train the boys as well as the girls to a life of 
purity. ] 

' 'Tis a very small thing I ask," do you 
say? 

But to send my dear boy on an errand to- 
day? 

"The distance is short — scarce the fiftii of 
a mile": 

Then, shaking your head, you say as you 
smile, 

"But the place is so rough, the men coarse 
and low; 

I would borrow your boy, for my girl can 
not go." 

Your girl can not go? Then why should you 

send 
My innocent boy? Tell me, my friend; 
As they play now together, with curl 

touclting curl, 
Is not my boy as pure as your little girl? 
And I hold it as true, whate'er you may 

say. 
He may be pure as she, twenty years from 

today. 

I know, in the world there is much he must 

meet 
Which will cross not the path for your lit- 
tle girl's feet; 
I know there are tempters w'ho will seek to 

allure 
My boy from whatever is noble and pure: 
And e'en in his childhood, the devils below. 
Will laugh when he's sent where girls can 
not go. 

At present, I know rests largely on me 
The kind of a man he in future will be; 
And I — shall I pray, "Let him not go 

astray," 
Yet send him myself where the tempter 

holds sway? 
Shall I plead, "With thy blood wash him 

white as the snow," 
Yet fear not to send him where girls can 

not go? 

" 'Tisn't far," you have said — "scarce the 

fifth of a mile; 
Your laddie could go in a very short while." 
And that may be true as men distance 

deem, 
Y'et comes to me now, like a vague, fearful 

dream. 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM. 



277 



The thought that time only, the distance 

can tell; 
One step oft has ushered a soul into hell. 

I pray that my child in his youth may find 

birth 
In the Spirit of him who was tempted on 

earth; 
I pray he may follow the path Jesus trod — 
Stepping- in footprints that lead, but to God; 
And, neighbor, I dare not, in weal or in woe, 
Send him to places where girls can not go. 



WANTED. 

GIRL. 
A g-irl that is willing to battle in life 

With a husband that's loving and true; 
A girl who'd be worthy the title of wife 

And a girl that is willing to do; 
A girl that can handle the duster and broom, 
And do her own washing and clean up a 
room. 
And make a good pudding or pie; 
Who'll toil and not grumble, 
Make work fairly rumble. 
And never say "Can't," but "I'll try." 

MAN. 
A man who is dutiful, patient, and kind. 

Who is willing to labor and wait. 
To marry the girl whom I have outlined, 

And to brave with her every fate: 
A man who'd be worthy of such a good wife, 
Whose days are not given to folly's rudo 
strife; 
A man who is steady, and more; 
■UTio'll rise without ire 
And kindle the fire, 
Stay home when his labors are o'er. 

I. J. A. MiLLEB. 



OUT OF THE WAY. 

Jamie's feet are restless and rough, 
Jamie's fingers cause disarray, 

Jamie can never make noise enough, 
Jamie is told to get out of the way. 

Out of the way of beautiful things, 

Out of the way with his games and toys. 

Out of the way with his sticks and strings. 
Out on the street with the other boys! 

Easy to slip from home restraint. 

Out of the mother-care, into the throng, 

Out of the way of fret and complaint. 
Out in the fun — borne swiftly along! 

Out of the way of truth and right; 

Out with the bold, the reckless, the gay: 
Out of purity into the night — 

Mother, your boy is out of the way! 

Out into darkness, crime, and woe! — 
Mother, why do you weep today? 

■Wleep that Jamie has sunk so low. 
You who sent him out of your way! 



Pray you, mother, to be forgiven! 

And for your boy, too, pray, oh, pray! 
For he is out of the way to heaven — 

Tes, he is surely out of the way! 

Emma C. Dowd. 



THE TWO GLASSES. 

There sat two glasses filled to the brim 
On a rich man's table, rim to rim; 
One was ruddy and red with blood. 
And one was clear as the crystal flood. 
Said the glass of wine to his paler brother: 
"Let us tell the tale of the past to each 

other; 
I can tell of banquet and revel and mirth; 
And the proudest and grandest souls on 

earth 
Fell under my touch as though struck by 

blight. 
Where I was king, I ruled in might. 

"From the heads of kings I have torn the 

crown, 
From the heights of fame I have hurled 

men down; 
I have blasted many an honored name; 
I have taken virtue and given shame; 
I have tempted the youth with a sip, a 

taste, 
That has made his future a barren waste. 

"Far greater than any king am I, 

Or than any army beneath the sky. 

I have made the arm of the driver frail, 

And set the train from the iron rail; 

I have made good ships go down at sea. 

And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to 

me, 
For they said: 'Behold, how great you be!' 
Fame, strength, wealth, genius, before me 

fall, 
And your might and power are over all! 
Ho! Ho! pale brother," laughed the wine. 
"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?" 

Said the glass of water: "I can not boast 
Of kings dethroned or murdered host; 
But I can tell of hearts that once were sad. 
By my crystal drops made light and glad; 
Of thirsts I've quenched and brows I've 

laved; 
Of hands I have cooled and souls I have 

saved. 

"I have leaped through the valley, dashed 
down the mountain. 

Danced and sported in the sparkling foun- 
tain, 

Slept in the sunshine, and dropped from the 
sky. 

And everywhere gladdened the landscape 
and eye; 

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and 
pain; 

I have made the parched meadow grow fer- 
tile with grain. 

I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill 

That ground out the flour and turned at my 
will; 



278 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"I can tell of manhood debased by you, 
That I have lifted and crowned anew. 
I cheer, I help. I strengthen and aid; 
I gladden the heart of man and maid; 
I set the chained wine captive free. 
And all are the better for knowing me." 

These are the tales they told each other, 
The glass of wine and his paler brother. 
As they sat together filled to the brim, 
On the rich man's table, rim to rim. 



SALOONS CAN NOT RUN WITHOUT 
BOYS. 

Wanted, some bright boys full of life and 

cheer 
To stand at my counter as drinkers of beer; 
To fill up the ranks, without further delay 
Of the army of drunkards that's passing 

away. 
Sixty thousand a year will only supply 
The loss to our trade from the drunkard.s 

that die. 
Send those who can toil, or have wealth 

to bestow, 
For profits are small on old drunkards, you 

know. 
Let them come from the shop, the school, 

or the home; 
We'll welcome them all whoever may come. 
Let mothers surrender their sons to our 

cause, 
And fathers keep voting for good license 

laws; 
For if you will vote to keep running the 

mill. 
You must furnish grists or the wheels will 

stand still. 

C. A. Ruddock. 



THE CONVICTS CHRISTMAS EVE. 

The term was done; my penalty was past; 

I saw the outside of the walls at last. 

When I left that stone punishment of sin, 

'Twas 'most as hard as when I first went 
in. 

It seemed at once as though t'.ie swift- 
voiced air 

Told slanderous tales about me everywhere; 

As if the ground itself was shrinking back 

For fear 'twould get the Cain's mark of my 
track. 

Men looked me over with close, careless 
gaze. 

And understood my downcast, jail-bred 
ways. 

My hands were so grime-hardened and de- 
filed, 

I really wouldn't have dared to pet a child; 

If I had spoken to a dog that day. 

He would have tipped his nose and walked 
away : 

The world itself seemed to me every bit 



As hard a prison as the one I'd quit. 
So I trudged round appropriately slow 
For one with no particular place to go. 
The houses scowled and stared as if to say, 
"You jail-bird, we are honest; walk away!" 
The factory seemed to scream when I came 

near, 
"Stand back! unsentenced men are working 

here!" 
And virtue had th' appearance all the time 
Of trying hard to push me back to crime. 

It struck me strange, that stormy, snow- 
bleached day, 
To watch the different people on the way, 
All carrying bundles, of all sorts of sizes. 
As carefully as gold and silver prizes. 
Well-dressed or poor, I could not under- 
stand 
WJiy each one hugged a bundle in his hand. 
I asked an old policeman what it meant; 
He looked me over with eyes shrew-dly bent, 
Wliile muttering in a voice that fairly froze: 
"It's 'cause tomorrow's Christmas, I sup- 
pose." 
And then the fact came crashing over me. 
How horribly alone a man can be! 

I don't pretend what tortures j'et may wait 
For souls that have not run their reckonings 

straight; 
It isn't for mortal ignorance to say 
Wliat kind of night may follow any day; 
There may be pain for sin some time found 

out 
That sin on earth knows nothing yet about; 
But I don't think there's any harbor known 
Worse for a wrecked soul than to be alone. 
So evening saw me straggling up and do\^■n 
Within the gayly lighted, desolate town, 
A hungry, sad-hearted hermit all the while, 
My rough face begging for a friendly smile. 
Folks talked with folks in new-made 

warmth and glee. 
But no one had a word or look for me; 
Love flowed like water, but it could not 

make 
The world forgive me for my one mistake. 

An open church some look of welcome wore; 

I crept in soft, and sat down near the door. 

I'd never seen, 'mongst my unhappy race. 

So many happy children in one place; 

I never knew how much a hymn could bring 

From heaven, until I heard those children 
sing; 

I never saw such sweet-breathed gales of 
glee 

As swept around that fruitful Christmas- 
tree. 

You who have tripped through childhood's 

merry days 
With passionate love protecting all your 

ways, 
Who did not see a Christmas-time go by 
Without some present for your sparkling 

eye. 
Thank God, whose goodness gave such joy 

its birth. 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM. 



279 



And scattered heaven-seeds in the dust of 

earth! 
In stone-paved ground my thorny field was 

set; 
I never had a Christmas present yet. 

Just then a cry of "Fire!" amongst us came; 
The pretty Christmas-tree was all aflame; 
And one sweet child there in our startled 

gaze 
■Was screaming, with her white clothes all 

ablaze. 
The crowd seemed crazy-lilie, both old and 

young. 
And very swift of speech, thougli slow of 

tongue; 
But one knew what to do, and not to say. 
And he a convict, just let loose tliat day! 

I fought like one who deals in deadly strife; 
I wrapped my life around that child's sweet 

life; 
I choired the flames that choked her, with 

rich cloaks. 
Stolen from some good but very frightened 

folks; 
I gave the dear girl to her parents' sight. 
Unharmed by anything excepting fright; 
I tore the blazing branches from the tree; 
And all was safe, and no one hurt but me. 

That night, of which I asked for sleep in 

vain — . 
That night, that tossed me round on prongs 

of pain, 
That stabbed me with fierce tortures 

tlirough and through, 
■Was still the happiest that I ever knew. 
I felt that I at last had earned a place 
Among my race, by suffering for my race; 
I felt the glorious facts wouldn't let me 

miss 
A mother's thanks — perhaps a child's sweet 

kiss: 
That man's warm gratitude would find a 

plan 
To lift me up. and lielp me be a man. 

Next day they brought a letter to my bed; 
I opened it with tingling nerves and read: 
"Tou have upon my kindness certain claims 
For rescuing my young child from the 

flames. 
Such deeds deserve a hand unstained bs 

crime; 
I trust you will reform while yet there's 

time; 
The blackest sinner may find mercy still. 
(Enclosed please find a thousand-dollar bill.) 
Our paths of course on different roads must 

lie; 
Don't follow me for any more. Good-by." 

I scorched the dirty rag till it was black; 

Enclosed it in a rag and sent it back. 

That very night I cracked a tradesman's 
door. 

Stole with my blistered hands ten thou- 
sand more, 

■Which next day I took special pains to send 



To my good, distant, wealthy, higli-toned 

friend. 
And wrote upon it in a steady hand. 
In words I hoped he wouldn't misunder- 
stand: 
"Money is cheap, as I have shown you here. 
But gratitude and sympathy are dear. 
These rags are stolen — have been — may 

often be; 
I trust the one wasn't that you sent to 

me. 
Hoping your pride and you are reconciled — 
From the black, sinful rescuer of your 
child." 

I crept to court — a crushed, triumphant 

worm- 
Confessed the theft, and took another term. 
My life closed, and began; and I am back 
Among the rogues that walk the broad- 
gauged track. 
I toil mid every sort of sin that's known; 
I walk rouigh roads — but do not walk alone! 

Will Cableton. 



STRENGTH. 

Be strong today; tlie world needs men 
Of nerve and muscle, i:ieart and brain, 

To war for truth and conquer wrong. 
The fight is on; the foes combine; 
Tlie order passes down the line, 

"Quit you like men; be strong." 

Be strong; the world hath also need 
Of feet to ache and hearts to bleed; 

Burdens there are to bear along; 
But, though the end, we may not see, 
'Tis not the meanest destiny 

To bear and to be strong. 

Be strong, but not in self. Go whence 
The breathings of Omnipotence 

Shall sweep the nerve-strings full and 
long, 
And from their impulse shall arise 
Those deep, celestial harmonies 

That comfort and make strong. 

And patience, too, must come to rest 
■U'ithin the striving, throbbing breast 

That thinks tomorrow all too long. 
Thus filling out in breadth and length 
The perfect character — for strength 

Unbridled is not strong. 

Yes, right must win, since God is just; 
Our hardest lesson is to trust. 

But his great plan still moves along 
Today is but the chrysalis 
That holds tomorrow; feeling this. 

Be patient and be strong. 

Each hath his mission. If it be 
My lot to toil, but not to see 

The fruits which to my toil belong, 
I know One whose all-seeing eye 
My humblest task shall glorify, 

And he shall make me strong. 

w. T. Field. 



280 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN. 

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my 
brothers, 
Ere the sorrow comes with years? 
They are leaning their young heads against 
their mothers. 
And that can not stop their tears. 

But the young, young children, O my broth- 
ers. 
They are weeping bitterly! 
They are weeping in the playtime of the 
others. 
In the country of the free. 

Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward. 

Grinding life down from its mark; 
And the children's souls which God is call- 
ing sunward. 
Spin on blindly in the dark. 

Elizabeth Bahrett Browning. 



THE BEAUTIFUL SNOW. 

[During the early part of tlie war. one dark Sal- 
nrday niiilit in miilwinter. there died in the Commer- 
cial Hospital of Cincinnati a young woman over 
whose head only two and twenty summers had passed. 
.*^he had once been possessed of envial)le beauty, and, 
as she herself said, had heen "llattered and sought 
for the charms of her face.*' But alas! upon her 
fair brow was written that terrible word — prostitute. 
A hignly educated and accomplished woman, she 
might have shone in the best of society. The evil 
hour that marked her downfall was the door from 
childhood, and. having siient a young life of disgrace 
and shame, the poor friendless one died the melan- 
choly death of a broken-hearted outcast. 

Among lier personal effects was found the manu- 
script. "Beautiful Snow," which was at once car- 
ried to Enos B. Reed, at that time editor of "The 
National Union." In the columns of that paper on 
the morning following the girl's death, the poem ap- 
peared in print for the first time. When the paper 
containing the poem came out on Sunday morning, 
the body of the victim had not received burial. 

Mr. T. B. Reed, one of the first American poets, 
was so taken with its strange pathos that he im- 
mediately followed the corpse to its final resting- 
place. 

Such, according to the "Boston Standard," are the 
plain facts concerning her whose "Beautiful Snow" 
shall long be remembered as one of the brightest 
poems in American literature. 1 

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow. 
Filling the sky and the earth below! 
Over the housetops, over the street. 
Over the heads of the people you meet; 
Dancing, 
Flirting, 

Skimming along. 
Beautiful snow! it can do no wrong. 
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, 
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak. 
Beautiful snow from the heaven above. 
Pure as an angel, gentle as love! 

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow! 

How the flakes gather and laugh as they 

go 
■Whirling about in their maddening fun! 
It plays in its glee with every one, 
Chasing, 
Laughing, 

Hurrying by; 



It lights on the face and it sparkles the 

eye, 
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, 
Snap at the crystals that eddy around. 
The town is alive and its heart in a glow. 
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow! 

How the wild crowd goes swaying along, 
Hailing each other with humor and song! 
How the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by, 
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye; 
Ringing, 
Singing, 

Dancing they go 
Over the crust of tlie beautiful snow — 
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky. 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rush- 
ing by. 
To be trampled and tracked by the thou- 
sands of feet. 
Till it blends with the horrible filth in the 
street. 

Once I was pure as tlie snow — but I fell! 
Fell, like the snowflakes, from heaven — to 

hell; 
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat; 
Pleading, 
Cursing, 

Dreading to die, 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy, 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread. 
Hating the living and fearing the dead. 
Merciful God! have I fallen so low? 
And yet I was once like the beautiful snow! 

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, 
With an eye like its crystal, a heart like Its 

glow; 
Once I was loved for my innocent grace. 
Flattered and sought for the charms of my 
face! 

Father, 
Mother, 

Sisters, all, 
God and myself, I have lost by my fall. 
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by 
Will make a wide sweep lest I wander too 

nigh; 
For of all that is on or about me, I know. 
There is nothing that's pure but the beau- 
tiful snow. 

How strange it should be that the beau- 
tiful snow 

Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! 

How strange it would be, when the night 
comes again. 

If the snow and the ice struck my desper- 
ate brain! 

Fainting, 
Freezing, 

Dying alone; 

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my 
moan 

To be heard in the streets of the crazy 
town, 

Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming 
down; 

To lie and to die in my terrible woe, 

With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful 
snow. 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM. 



281 



OLD RYE MAKES A SPEECH. 

I was made to be eaten, 

And not to be drank; 
To be thrashed in a barn, 

Not soaked in a tank. 
I come as a blessing, 

When put through the mill; 
As a blight and a curse, 

■Wlien run through a still. 
Make me up into loaves, 

And your children are fed; 
But if into drink, 

I will starve them instead. 
In bread I'm a servant. 

The eater sliall rule; 
In drink I am master, 

The drinker a fool. 
Then remember the warning: 

M5' strength I'll employ. 
If eaten, to strengthen; 

If drank, to destroy. 



THE RUMSELLERS SIGN. 

I will paint you a sign, rumseller. 
And hang it above your door — 

A truer and better sign-board 
Than >ou ever had before. 

I will paint with the skill of a master. 
And many will pause to see 

This wonderful piece of painting, 
■ So like the reality. 

I will paint you a sign, rumseller. 

As you wait for the fair young boy, 
Just in the morn of manhood, 

A mother's pride and joy. 
He has no thought of stopping. 

But you greet him with a smile, 
And you seem so blithe and friendly 

That he pauses to chat a while. 

I will paint you a sign, ruimseller; 

I will paint you as you stand 
With a foaming glass of liquor. 

Holding with either hand. 
He wavers but you urge him: 

"Drink! Pledge me just this one"; 
And he lifts the glass and drains it. 

And the hellish work is done. 

And next I will paint you a drunkard, 

Only a year has flown. 
But into this loathsome creature 

The fair young boy has grown; 
The work was quack and rapid. 

I will paint him as he lies 
In a torpid, drunken slumber 

Under the wintry skies. 

I will paint the form of the mother 

As she kneels at her darling's side. 
Her beautiful boy that was dearer 

Than all the world beside. 
I will paint the shape of a coffin, 

Labeled with one word, "Lost." 
I will paint all this, rumseller, 

And paint it free of cost. 



The sins and the shame and the sorrow. 

The crime and want and woe. 
That is born there in your rumshop. 

No hand can paint, you know; 
But I'll paint you a sign, rumseller. 

And many shall pause to view 
This wonderful, swinging sign-board, 

So terribly, fearfully true. 



THE DRUNKARD S ALPHABET. 

A stands for Alcohol, deathlike its grip; 

B for Beginner, who just takes a sip; 

C for Companion, who urges him on; 

D for Demon of drink that is born; 

E for Endeavor he makes to resist. 

P stands for Friends who so loudly insist; 

for Guilt that he afterwards feels; 
H for Horrors that hang at his heels; 

1 his Intention to drink not at all. 

J stands for Jeering that follows his fall; 
K for his Knowledge that he is a slave. 
li stands for Liquor his appetite craves: 
M for convivial Meetings so gay. 
N stands for No he tries hard to say; 
O for the Orgies that then come to pass. 
P stands for Pride that he drowns in his 

glass; 
Q for the Quarrels that nightly abound. 
B stands for Ruin that hovers around. 
S stands for Sight that his vision bedims. 
T stands for Trembling that seizes his 

limbs; 
TJ for his Usefulness sunk in the slums. 
"f stands for Vagrant he quickly becomes; 
vr for Warning of life that's soon done; 
X for his eXit regretted by none, 
■youth of this nation, such weakness Is 

crime; 
Zealously turn from the tempter in time 



TWO VERDICTS. 

She was a woman, worn and thin. 

Whom the world condemned for a single 

sin; 
They cast her out on the king's highway. 
And passed her by as they went to pray. 

He was a man and more to blame, 

But the world spared him a breath of shame. 

Under his feet he saw her lie, 

But raised his head and passed her by. 

They were the people who went to pray 
At the temple of God one holy day. 
They scorned the woman, forgave the man, 
It was ever thus since the world began. 

Time passed on, the woman died. 

On the cross of shame she was crucified: 

But the world was stern and would not 

yield, 
So they buried her in the potter's field. 

The man died, too, and they buried him 
In a casket of cloth, with a silver rim. 



282 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And said, as they turned from his grave 

away, 
"We've buried an honest man today." 

Two mortals knocking at heaven's gate, 
Stood face to face to inquire tlieir fate. 
He carried a passport with earthly sign, 
And slie a pardon from Love Divine. 

O ye wlio judge 'twixt virtue and vice, 
Which, think you, entered to paradise? 
Not he whom the world had said would win, 
For the woman alone was ushered in. 

ARTHUR Lewis Tubes. 



A CONVICTS PLEA. 

[This poem, which we have named "A Convict's 
Plea." appeared, along with the following head-note, 
in The Scrap Book. 

Oarl Arnold and William Harve.v. once sentenced 
to death for a murder, . . , walked out of the Kan- 
sas State penitentiar,v ... as free men — all because 
of a poem. The original sentence of the two men had 
already been commuted to that of life imprisonment. 
Then, when Governor Iloch was elected. Arnold com- 
posed and sent him the poem. The new Governor 
was so impressed that he, in turn, commuted the life 
sentence to eighteen years. This, with earned "good 
time," was served out. Although Harvey had noth- 
ing to do with the composition of the verse, he prof- 
ited by Arnold's inspiration through the fact that he 
had been Jointly sentenced with the "poet" for the 
same crime. Here is the poem.] 

The coarser soul but lightly feels 

The dally dole of ill. 
But what distress each hour reveals 
For him who in his heart conceals 

Some aspirations still! 

I can not fawningly implore. 
As feeble, false hearts can; 

But, in humility before 

The power that bars my prison-door. 
I plead, as man to man. 

Oft folly more than vice appears 

In errors we have made. 
The ideal that the man reveres 
Is not the dream of early years — 

Youth's brief delusions fade. 

Though hearts, embittered, still retain 
A grudge for old mistakes. 

Excessive penalties are vain; 

The long monotony of pain 
No restitution makes. 

The ancient eye-for-eye decree 
God has himself destroyed; 

Still speaks that voice from Calvary; 

Shall Shylocks, with their ghoulish glee. 
Make his commandments void? 

Aye, "blessed are the merciful"; 

O Christian heart, relent. 
For sins of folly, faults of will, 
I kneel at Mercy's tribunal — 

A contrite penitent. 

Long have I been with sorrow; long 

The agonizing years 
Have held no freight of love and song 



And laughter — only pain and wrong 
And penitence and tears. 

For home and love, for liberty 

To toil, as free men can — 
O hand of fate, that bars to me 
The gates of opportunity — 
I plead, as man to man. 



THE LIQUOR BAR. 

A bar to heaven, a door to hell — 
■Whoever named it named it well. 

A bar to manliness and wealth, 
A door to want and broken health. 

A bar to honor, pride, and fame; 
A door to sorrow, sin, and shame. 

A bar to hope, a bar to pray'r, 
A door to darkness and despair. 

A bar to useful, righteous life; 

A door to brawling, senseless strife. 

A bar to all that's true and brave, 
A door to every drunkard's grave. 

A bar to joys that home imparts, 
A door to tears and broken hearts. 

A bar to heaven, a door to hell — 
■WTioever named it named it well. 



THE CASTAWAY. 

There was once a castaway, 
And she was weeping, weeping bitterly, 
Kneeling and crying with a heart-sick cry, 
That choked itself in sobs: "Oh, my good 

name! 
Oh, my good name!" and none did hear her 

cry; 
Nay; and it lightened, and the storm-bolts 

fell. 
And the rain splashed upon the roof, and 

still 
She, storm-tossed as the stormy elements. 
She cried with an exceeding bitter cry, 
"Oh, my good name!" And then the thun- 
der-cloud 
Stooped low and burst in darkness over- 
head. 
And rolled and rocked her on her knees, 

and shook 
The frail foundations of her dwelling-place; 
But she — if any neighbor had come in, 
(None did) — if any neighbor had come in, 
He might have seen her crying on her 

knees, 
And sobbing, "Lost, lost, lost!" beating her 

breast— 
Her breast forever pricked with cruel 
thorns. 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM. 



283 



ye good women! it is hard to leave 
The paths of virtue and return again. 
What if the sinner wept and none of you 
Comforted her? and what if she did strive 
To mend, and none of you believed her 

strife. 
Nor looked u.pon her! 

But I beseech 
Your patience. Once in old Jerusalem 
A woman kneeled at consecrated feet, 
Kissed them and washed them with her 
tears; 

What then? 

1 think that yet our Lord is pitiful; 
I think I see the castaway e'en now; 
And she is not alone. The lieavy rain 
Splashes without, and sullen thunder rolls. 
But she is lying at the sacred feet 

Of One transfigured 

And her tears flow down, 
Down to her lips — her lips that kiss the 

print 
Of nails, and love is like to break her heart. 
Love and repentance — for it still dotli work 
Sore in her soul to think, to think that she. 
Even she, did pierce the sacred, sacred feet. 
And bruised the thorn-crowned head. 

O Lord, our Lord, 
How great is thy compassion! 

Jean Ingelow. 



A TEMPERANCE PLEA. 

Away with the demon that threatens the 
soul! 

Away with its sparkle and cheer! 
Away! it will poison and madden at last; 

Say, "No!" though a comrade may jeer. 

Away with the mirth and the song it cre- 
ates! 
Away! it is only a snare 
Through which to entice, and forever to 
hold 
Tour soul in the chains of despair. 

Away with its promise of fellowship true! 

It brings only hatred and shame; 
Away with false vigor it brings to the flesh! 

For it weakens and totters the frame. 

Away with the robber who steals in the 
liome. 
Depriving its children of bread! 
Away with the demon that causes dear 
hearts 
To watch for their loved ones with dread! 

Away with the demon and dare to say 
"Xo!" 
Care not though false friends may deride; 
Stand up in the valor of manhood and 
youth 
For home, for your country, and pride. 

Away with the demon that threatens our 
land! 



If you are a man, vote it down! 
Thus lessen our prisons, make happy the 
poor; 
And yours is a heavenly crown. 

Elizabeth M. Cbosbt. 



WHOSE BOY? 

Whose boy will next be sacrificed 

On fiendish Drink's unhallowed shrine? 
Each mother's heart goes up in prayer: 

"Not mine, O God — not mine! Not mine! 
No not the boy whose bonnie head 

So oft I've to my bosom pressed, 
WTiile singing low, soft lullabies 

That soothed the tired child to rest! 

"Oh ! can it be that he should fall 

A prey to aught so vile as this? 
Oh! can it be the tempter's wiles 

Should rob my life of all this bliss? 
Shall his dear feet be led astray 

By this accursed, licensed sin? 
This fair young boy, whom Jesus loves, 

Be lost, that others gold might win?" 

Some mother's boy must fill the ranks. 

Some fireside treasure feed the flame. 
Whose fiery tongue insatiate burns 

And leaves deep scars of sin and shame. 
Poor tortured bodies, mangled, bruised, 

Wounded too deep for love's sweet balm; 
Souls tossed by discord fierce and wild, 

That heavenly music can not calm. 

Oh! why should this unholy hand 

Write daily horrors on life's page 
And sear as with the breath of hell. 

The heart of childhood, youth, and age? 
Alas! a nation yields the right 

And kneels in blood at Mammon's shrine. 
Whose boy will next be sacrificed? 

It may be yours, it may be mine. 



IF. 



If you want a red nose and dim, bleary 
eyes; 

If you wisli to be one whom all men de- 
spise; 

If you wish to be ragged and weary and 
sad; 

If you wish, in a word, to go to the bad,— 
Then drink! 

If you wish that your life a failure may be; 

If you wish to be penniless — out at the 
knee; 

If you wish to be homeless, broken, for- 
lorn; 

If you wish to see pointed the finger of 
scorn, — 

Then drink! 

If you wisli that your manhood be shorn of 
its strength. 

That your days may be shortened to one- 
half their length; 



284 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



If you like the gay mueic of curse or of 

wail; 
If you long for the slielter of poorhouse or 

jail, — 

Tlien drinli! 

If your tastes don't agree with the "if " as 

above; 
If you'd rather have life full of brightness 

and love; 
If you care not to venture nor find out too 

SOOD 

That the gateway of hell lies through the 
saloon, — • 

Then don't drink! 



THE WILLING SLAVES. 

They are slaves wlio fear to speak 
For the fallen and the weak; 
They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. 
Rather than in silence shrink 
From the truth they needs must think; 
They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three. 

JAME3 R0SSELL LOWELL. 



THE BIRD WITH A BROKEN WING. 

[One <la.v a convict in Joliet pri.son picked up in 
the corridor a scrap of paper on wliich was the fol- 
lowing poem. He had been converted in the early 
part of his imprisonment, and the words came to him 
with great force. He thought of his sin and realized 
how hard it would be henceforth to mal£e his way in 
the world. He copied the stanzas and kept them 
carefully. When he came out of prison he resolved. 
God helping him. to preach the gospel. Many looked 
upon him with suspicion, but God gave him frienrls, 
and he gained the confidence of people wherever 
he went. He became an earnest Christian worker, 
preaching much and with great power to audiences of 
criminals.] 

I walked through the woodland meadows, 

"WHiere sweet the thruslies sing, 
And found on a bed of mosses 

A bird with a broken wing. 
I healed its wound, and each morning 

It sang its old sweet strain; 
But the bird with a broken pinion 

Never soared as liigh again. 

I found a young life broken 

By sin's seductive art; 
And, touched witli a Christlike pity, 

I took him to my heart. 
He lived with a noble purpose. 

And struggled not in vain; 
But tlie life that sin had stricken 

Never soared as high again. 

But the bird with a broken pinion 

Kept another from the snare. 
And the life that sin had stricken 

Raised another from despair. 
Each loss has its compensation. 

There is Iiealing for every pain; 
But the bird with a broken pinion 

Never soars as high again. 

HeZBKIAH BtlTTERWORTH. 



THE INKSTAND BATTLE. 

We are making smokeless powder 
And big bombs to throw a mile. 

That will blow the foe to chowder 
In the true dynamic style. 

Wie've a whirling gun; you start it, 

And the myriad bullets fly. 
And a luindred men a minute 

Roll their stony eyes and die. 

Let us stop this wild death's revel; 

Martin Luther, so 'tis said, 
Threw his inkstand at the devil. 

And the black fiend turned and fled. 

Smite your world-wrong; don't combat it 

With a fusillade of lead; 
.Simply throw your inkstand at it; 

Come tomorrow, it is dead. 

\\"'hen the world upon the brink stands 
Of some crisis steep and dread, 

Ijike brave soldiers seize your inkstands. 
Hurl them at the devil's head. 

Pour your ink-pots in a torrent 
Till the strangling demons sink. 

Till the struggling fiends abhorrent 
Drown in oceans of black ink. 

For the man who's horn a figliter. 
For the brain that's learned to think. 

There is dynamite and niter 
In a bottle of black ink. 

Though it makes no weeping nations. 
And it leaves no gaping scars. 

I'iaced 'neath error's strong foundations 
It may blow them to the stars. 

S. W. Foss. 



ONLY A WOMAN. 

Only a woman, shriveled and old; 

The prey of the winds and the prey of the 

cold. 
Cheeks that are shrunken. 
Eyes that are sunken. 
Lips that were never o'erbold. 
Only a woman, forsaken and poor. 
Asking an alms at the bronze cliurch door 

Hark to the organ! roll upon roll 

The waves of its music go over her soul. 

Silks rustle past her 

Thicker and faster; 

The great bell ceases its toll; 

Fain would she enter, but not for the poor 

Swingeth wide open the bronze church door. 

Only a woman, waiting alone. 

Icily cold on an ice-cold throne. 

"What do they care for her? 

Muonbling a prayer for her — 

Giving not bread but a stone. 

Under rich laces their haughty hearts beat. 

Mocking the woes of their kin in the street. 



TEMPERANCE AND REFORM. 



285 



Only a woman. In the old days 
Hope caroled to her her happiest lays; 
Somebody missed her; 
Somebody kissed her: 
Somebody crowned her with praise; 
Somebody faced up the battle of life 
Strong for her sake who was mother or 
wife. 

Somebody lies with a tress of her hair 
Light on his heart, where the death-shad- 
ows are; 
Somebody waits for her, 
Opening the gates for her. 
Giving delight for despair. 
Only a woman — nevermore poor — 
Dead in the snow at the bronze church door! 
Hesteb a. Benedict. 



CLEAR THE WAY. 

Men of thought! be up, and stirring 

Night and day; 
Sow and seed — withdraw the curtain — 

Clear the way! 
Men of action, aid and cheer them, 

As ye may! 
There's a fount about to stream. 
There's a light about to beam. 
There's a warmth about to glow. 
There's a flower about to blow. 
There's a midnight blackness changing 

Into gray: 
Men of thought and men of action. 

Clear the way! 

Once the welcome light has broken, 

Who shall say 
■Wliat the unimagined glories 

Of the day? 
What the evil that shall perish 

In its ray? 
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen; 
Aid it, hopes of honest men; 
Aid it, paper: aid it, type — ■ 
Aid it, for the hour is ripe. 
And our earnest must not slacken 

Into play. 
Men of thought and men of action, 

Clear the way! 

Lo! a cloud's about to vanish 

From the day. 
And a brazen wrong to crumble 

Into clay. 
Lo! the right's about to conquer; 

Clear the way! 



With the Hight shall many more 
Enter smiling at the door; 
With the giant Wrong shall fall 
Many others, great and small, 
That for ages long have held us 

For their prey. 
Men of thought and men of action. 

Clear the way! 

Chirlbs Macsat. 



DON T MARRY A MAN TO REFORM 
HIM. 

Don't marry a man to reform him; 

To God and your own self be true. 
Don't link to his vices your virtue; 

You'll rue it, dear girl, if you do. 

No matter how fervent his pleadings, 

Be not by his promise led; 
If he can't be a man while a wooing, 

He'll never be one when he's wed. 

Don't marry a man to reform him — 
To repent it, alas, when too late: 

The mission of wives least successful 
Is the making of crooked limbs straight. 

There's many a maiden has tried it, 
And proved it a failure at last; 

Better tread your life's pathway alone, dear, 
Than wed with a lover that's fast. 

Mankind's much the same the world over; 

The exceptions you'll find are but few. 
WHien the rule is defect and disaster. 

The chances are great against you. 

Don't trust your bright hopes for the future, 
The beautiful crown of your youtli. 

To the keeping of him who holds lightly 
His fair name and honor and truth. 

To honor and love you must promise; 

Don't pledge what you can not fulfil: 
If he'll have no respect for himself, dear. 

Most surely you then never will. 

'Tis told us the frown of a woman 
Is strong as the blow of a man, 

And the world will be better when women 
Frown on error as hard as they can. 

Make virtue the price of your favor; 

Place wrong-doing under a ban; 
And let him who'd win you and wed you 

Prove himself in full measure a man. 



SORROW 

BEREAVEMENT 

DEATH 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



2S'J 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH 



WE CALL THEM DEAD. 

We call them dead — the dear ones that in 
silence 
Have passed beyond our sight forever- 
more, 
Across the voiceless sea, whose lapping 
waters 
No footprints leave of those who walk its 
shore. 

We call them dead, and gaze with tear- 
dimmed vision 
Upon the placid face and folded hand; 
But while we question His infinite wisdom, 
They see and know and clearly under- 
stand. 

For they have learned that life is not the 
fairest 
Or choicest gift God giveth to his own. 
But that beyond death's sable pall await- 
eth 
A sweeter joy than life hath ever known. 

For them a hand hath rent tlie veil asun- 
der; 
Within the inner temple they have trod; 
The questions that perplexed them, all are 
answered. 
For face to face they have communed 
with God. 

We call it death — this slipping earthly 
moorings 
And drifting with the ebbing tide away; 
But they have only passed beyond the shad- 
ows 
Into the sunlight of an endless day. 

Lizzifi Clark Hardy. 



THERE IS NO DEATH. 

There is no death! The stars go down, 
To rise upon some fairer sliore; 

And, bright in heaven's jeweled crown, 
They shine forevermore. 

There is no death! The dust we tread 
Shall change beneath the summer show- 
ers 

To golden grain or mellowed fruit 
Or rainbow-tinted flowers. 

The granite rocks disorganize, 

And feed the nunKry n^oss they hear; 

The forest leaves drink daily /ife 
From out the viewless air. 

There is no death! The leaves may fall, 
And flowers may fade and pass away: 

They only wait, through wintry hours, 
The coming of the May. 

There is no death! An ansrel form 

W^alks o'er the earth with silent tread; 



He bears our best loved things away 
And we then call them "dead." 

He leaves our hearts all desolate, 

He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers; 

Transplanted into bliss, they now 
Adorn immortal bowers. 

The birdlike voice, whose joyous tones 
Make glad tliese scenes of sin and strife. 

Sings now an everlasting song 
Around the tree of life. 

Where'er he sees a smile too bright 
Or heart too pure for taint and vice. 

He bears it to that world of light. 
To dwell in paradise. 

Born unto that undying life. 

They leave us, but to come again; 

With joy we welcome them, the same — • 
E.xcept their sin and pain. 

And ever near us, though unseen, 
The dear immortal spirits tread; 

For all the boundless universe 
Is life — there are no dead. 

J. L. McCbsbhy. 



A WRECK AND DEATH AT SEA. 

All night the booming minute-gun 

Had pealed along the deep. 
And mournfully the rising sun 

Looked o'er the tide-worn steep. 
A bark, from India's coral strand. 

Before the raging blast 
Had veiled her topsails to the sand. 

And bowed her noble mast. 

The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven 

And true ones died with her! 
We saw her mighty cable riven. 

Like floating gossamer. 
We saw her proud flag struck that morn— 

A star once o'er the seas — 
Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn, , 

And sadder things than these. 

We saw the strong man still and low, 

A crushed reed thrown aside; 
Yet, by that rigid lip and brow, 

Not without strife he died. 
And near him on the seaweed lay — 

Till then we had not wept. 
But well our gusliing hearts might say. 

That there a mother .slept. 

For her pale arms a babe had pres.^ed 

With such a wreathing grasp 
Billows had dashed o'er that fond breast 

Yet not undone the clasp; 
Her very tresses had been flung 

To wrap the fair child's form. 
Where still then wet, long streamers hung. 

All tangled by the storm. 



290 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And, beautiful 'midst that wild scene, 

Gleamed up the boy's dead face, 
Like slumbers trustingly serene, 

In melancholy grace; 
Deep in her bosom lay his head, 

With half-shut violet eye. 
He had known little of her dread, 

Naught of her agony! 

O human love, whose yearning heart, 

Tlirough all things vainly true. 
So stamps upon thy mortal part 

Its passionate adieu, 
Surely thou hast another lot; 

There is some home for thee. 
Where thou shall rest, remembering not 

The moaning of the sea! 

Felicia Dobothea Hemans. 



THE CHILD OF EARTH. 

Fainter her slow step falls from day to 
day; 
Death's hand is heavy on her darkening 
brow; 
Tet doth she fondly cling to life, and say, 
"I am content to die — but, oh, not now! — 
Not while the blossoms of the joyous 
spring 
Make the warm air such luxury to 
breathe; 
Not while the birds such lays of gladness 
sing; 
Not while bright flowers around my foot- 
steps wreathe. 
Spare me, great God! lift up my drooping 

brow; 
I am content to die — but, oh, not now!" 

The spring hath ripened into summer time; 
The season's viewless boundary is past; 
The glorious sun hath reached his burning 
prime; 
Oh! must this glimpse of beauty be the 
last? 
"Let me not perish while o'er land and sea. 
With silent steps, the Lord of light moves 

on; 
Not while the murmur of the mountain-bee 
Greets my duJl ear with music in its tone! 
Pale sickness dims my eye, and clouds my 

brow: 
I am content to die — but, oh, not now!" 

Summer is gone, and autumn's soberer hues 
Tint the ripe fruits and gild the waving 
corn; 

The huntsman swift the flying game pur- 
sues, 
Shouts the halloo, and winds the eager 
horn. 

"Spare me a while, to wander forth, and 
gaze 
On the broad meadows and the quiet 
stream: 

To watch in silence while the evening rays 

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy 
gleam. 

Cooler the breezes play around my brow, 

I am content to die— but, oh, not now!" 



The bleak wind whistles; snow-showers, 
far and near, 
Drift without echo to the whitening 
ground. 
Autumn hath passed away; and, cold and 
drear. 
Winter stalks on with frozen mantle 
bound; 
Tet still that prayer ascends: "Oh! laugh- 
ingly 
My little brothers round the warm hearth 
crowd; 
Our home-fire blazes broad and bright and 
high. 
And the roof rings with voices light and 
loud. 
Spare me a while! raise up my drooping 

brow : 
I am content to die — but, oh, not now!" 

The spring has come again — the joyful 

spring! 
Again the banks with clustering flowers 

are spread; 
The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing; 
The child of earth is numbered with the 

dead! 
"Thee never more the sunshine shall awake. 
Beaming all redly through the lattice- 
pane; 
The steps of friends thy slumber may not 

break, 
Nor fond familiar voice arouse again! 
Death's silent shadow veils thy darkened 

brow: 
Wliy didst thou linger? — thou art happier 

now!" Caroltnb Elizabeth Norton. 



GO TO THY REST. 

Go to thy rest, fair child! 

Go to thy dreamless bed. 
While yet so gentle, undefiled. 

With blessings on thy head. 

Fresh roses In thy hand, 

Buds on thy pillow laid, 
Haste from this dark and fearful land, 

Where flowers so quickly fade. 

Before thy heart has learned 

In waywardness to stray. 
Before thy feet have ever turned 

The dark and downward way. 

Ere sin has seared the breast, 

Or sorrow forced the tear, 
Rise to thy throne of changeless rest, 

In yon celestial sphere! 

Because thy smile was fair. 
Thy tender eye so bright, 
Because thy loving cradle-care 
Was such a great delight. 

Shall love, with weak embrace, 

Thy upward wing detain? 
No! gentle angel, seek thy place 

Amid tlie cherub train. 

Mrs. I,tdia H. Sigocrney. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



291 



AT A MOTHER S GRAVE. 

I miss ye now, 
O wrinkled, tender hands that smoothed 
my brow, 

precious heart that beat with love till 

death. 
Mourn low, ye winds, mourn low; 
A mother lies beneath. 

The shadows fall. 
And night hangs o'er the willows like a pall. 
Gladness and light and joy are oh, so 
brief! 
Dark clouds the stars recall, 
And leave me lone with grief. 

There's no regret. 
No sighs heart-broken that I'd fain forget; 
"Tis parting causes anguished tears to 
flow. 
And mongst these mounds dew-wet, 

1 lowly breathe my woe 

The winds that sigh, 
Whisper the cradle-song of years gone by, 

And reinvoke to me a distant day 
When mother-love was nigh. 

To soothe a restless way. 

F. W. HCTT. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 

I knew that we must part; day after day 
I saw the dread Destroyer win his way. 
That hollow cough first rung the fatal 

knell. 
As on my ear its prophet-warning fell. 
Feeble and slow thy once light footstep 

grew ; 
Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid 

hue; 
Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly 

clung: 
Each sweet "good-night" fell fainter from 

thfy tongue. 

I knew that we must part; no power could 

save 
Thy quiet goodness from an early grave 
Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance 

they cast. 
Looking a sister's fondness to the lat.t: 
Thy lips so pale, that gently pressed my 

cheek; 
Tlij' vok-e--alas! thou coulds-t bnt try to 

speak — 
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart: 
The shaft had struck: I knew that we must 

part. 

And we have parted, Mary: thou art gone! 
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering 

one. 
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep 
So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep 
In those fond watchers who around thee 

stood 
And felt that God, even then, was good. 



Like stars that struggle through the 
clouds of night. 

Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious 
light. 

As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere 
given 

To know on earth what faith believes of 
heaven; 

Then, like tired breezes, didst thou sink to 
rest. 

Nor one, one pang the awful change con- 
fessed. 

Death stole in softness o'er that lovely 

face. 
And touch'd each feature with a new-born 

grace: 
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay. 
And told that life's poor cares had passed 

away. 
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me! 
I ask no more than this — to die like thee. 

But we have parted, Mary; thou art dead! 

On its last resting-place I laid thy head, 

Then by thy coffin-side knelt* down and 
took 

A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look. 

Those marble lips no kindred kiss re- 
turned; 

From those vailed orbs no glance respon- 
sive burned: 

Ah! then I felt that thou hadst passed 
away. 

That the sweet face I gazed on was but 
clay. 

And then came Memory, with her busy 
throng 

Of tender images forgotten long; 

Tears hurried back, and, as they swiftly 
rolled, 

I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old. 

Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew; 

Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claimed 
her due; 

Thick, thick and fast, the burning tear- 
drops started: 

I turn'd away, and felt that we had parted. 

But not forever: in the silent tomb, 
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find 

room. 
A little while — a few short years of pain — 
And, one by one. we'll come to thee again. 
The kind old father shall seek out the 

place. 
And rest with thee, the youngest of his 

race: 
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and 

grief. 
Shall lay her head by thine in sweet relief: 
.''ister and brother, and that faithful friend. 
True from the first and tjnder to the end — 

All, all in His good time who placed us 

hero 
To live, to love, to die, and disappear, 
Shall come and make their quiet bed with 

thee 
Beneath the shadow of that spreading 

tree — 



292 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



With thee to sleep through death's long, 

dreamless night, 
With thee rise up and bless the morning 

light. 

Charles Spbague. 



MY CHILD. 

No, I can not make him dead! 

His fair sunshiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chair; 

Yet when my eyes, now dim 

With tears, I turn to him, 
The vision vanishes — he is not there. 

I walk my parlor floor, 

And through the open door 
I hear a foot-fall on the chamber-stair; 

I'm stepping toward the hall 

To give the boy a call. 
And then bethink me that — he is not tlierc-: 

I tfead the crowded street; 

A satcheled lad I meet. 
With the same beaming eyes and colored 
hair: 

And as he's running by. 

Follow him with my eye, 
Scarcely believing that — he is not there! 

I know the face is hid 
Under the coflin-lid; 
Closed are his eyes, cold is his forehead 
fair; 
My hand that marble felt; 
O'er it in prayer I knelt; 
Yet my heart whispers that — he is not 
there! 

I can not make him dead! 

■WTien passing by the bed 
So long watched over with parental care. 

My spirit and my eye 

Seek it inquiringly, 
Before the thought comes that — he is not 
there! 

When at the cool gray break 
Of day from sleep I wake, 

With my first breathing of the morning air 
My soul goes u,p with joy. 
To Him who gave my boy; 

Then comes the sad thought that — ^he is 
not there! 

When at the day's calm close. 

Before we seek repose, 
I'm with his mother offering up our prayer 

Or evening anthems tuning. 

In spirit I'm communing 
With our boy's spirit, though — he is not 
there! 

Not there! Where, then, is he? 

The form I used to see 
Was but the raiment that he used to wear! 

The grave, that now doth press 

Upon that cast-off dress. 
Is but his wardrobe locked — he is not 
there! 



He lives! — in all the past 

He lives; nor, to the last. 
Of seeing him again will I despair. 

In dreams I see him now. 

And on his angel-brow, 
I see it written: "Thou shall see me there!" 

Yes, we all live to God! 
Father, thy chastening rod 
So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear. 
That in the spirit-land. 
Meeting at thy right hand, 
'Twill be our heaven to find that — thou art 
there! 

John Piehpont. 



THE HOUR OF DEATH. 

Leaves have their time to fall. 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's 
breath. 
And stars to set; but all. 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O 
Death! 

Day is for mortal care; 
Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous 
hearth ; 
Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice 
of prayer; 
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the 
earth! 

The banquet has its hour — 
Its feverish hour — of mirth, and song, and 
wine; 
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelm- 
ing power, 
A time for softer tears; but all are thine. 

Youth and the opening rose 
May look like things too glorious for decay. 
And smile at thee; but thou art not of 
those 
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their 
prey. 

Leaves have their time to fall. 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's 
breath. 
And stars to set; but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O 
Death ! 

We know when moons shall wane. 
When summer birds from far shall cross 
the sea. 
When autumn's hues shall tinge the 
golden grain; 
But who shall teach us when to look for 
thee? 

Is it when spring's first gale 
Comes forth to whisper where the violets 
lie? 

Is it when roses in our path grow pale? 
They have one season; all are ours to die. 

Thou art where billows foam; 
Thou art where music melts upon the air; 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



293 



Thou art around us in our peaceful home; 
And the world calls us forth, and thou art 
there. 

Thou art where friend meets friend, 
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest; 
Thou art where foe meets foe, and trum- 
pets rend 
The skies, and swords beat down the 
princely crest. 

Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's 
breath. 
And stars to set; but all. 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O 
Death! 

Felicia Dobothla Hemans. 



TO THE MOURNER. 

In hours of grief, oppressed with tribula- 
tion. 
When storms beat sore within the 
troubled breast. 
How sweet to know the author of salvation 
Said, "Come to me, and I will give you 
rest"! 

Those words attend, O mourner, sad and 
lonely; 
Our Lord on earth was often lone and 
sad. 
When loved ones sleep, the thought of 
Jesus only 
Can dry our tears and bid the heart be 
glad. 

The day draws nigh — how joyous the re- 
flection! — ■ 
When Christ shall come, descending from 
above. 
The Lord Himself, our life and resurrection, 
Shall crown U3 His whom now unseen we 
love. 

D. W. Phelps. 



ONLY A BABY S GRAVE. 

Wo buried a little baby today — 

A babe only ten months old; 
But what else beside we buried away. 

The half can nev^r be told. 
'Twas only a tiny mound that was made, 

Down there by the churchyard wall; 
Beneath it a wee white cofl^n was laid — 

Ah, if this alone had been all! 

A mother's dreams of bright years to 
come — 

Dreams ne'er to be realized — 
The joy, the light, the life of her home. 

Her treasure most highly prized — 
All these were laid in that casket today. 

Along with her baby boy; 
And with heart all broken she came away — 

We buried a mother's joy. 



A proud man's dearest hopes laid there. 

In that casket of his son; 
And we turned aside with a tear, a prayer. 

As we looked on the anguished one. 
In fancy he'd painted his manly boy. 

High up on the ladder of fame; 
He had watched him climb with eager joy. 

And ne'er dreamed that death might 
claim. 

As we closed forever the cofHn lid 

O'er the little waxen form. 
And under the clods of earth it was hid, 

Away from life's every storm. 
We looked at the tiny heap that it made, 

Wliere the meadow grasses wave. 
And marveled great that so much could be 
laid 

In a little baby's grave. 

MARUARET M'RAE LACKEt. 



MOTHER IS DEAD. 

Sorrow broods upon the blackened wing; 
Death has come %vith his cruel sting; 
Hearts are bleeding, pleading, and cruslied. 
While rooms are darkened and voices 

hushed. 
A mother sleeps, and a world of care 
Has passed from the brow of marble there; 
And the sweet, white lips are closed for 

aye. 
Heedless, at last, to the children's cry. 

A motherless brood, with aching hearts, 
A new, fresh grief as each day departs; 
Nothing remains save a deep, black pall. 
And mocking echoes through room and 

hall- 
Echoes of earth on a coffln lid. 
Thoughts of a face forever hid, 
Shafts of pain that pierce and rend. 
Sobbing farewells to our only friend; 

Echoes of mother's words and song; 
Echoes that come in a hurrying throng — 
Of kindness and love and patient ways, 
Of watchful care through nights and days. 
Memory of hand with toil acquaint. 
Of burdens borne with no complaint; 
Echoes of prayers and hopes and fears, 
A perfect trust through many years; 

Echoes of all that we did or said 

To whiten the hair in that mother's head; 

Memory of acts, in a childish mood, 

That showed to her ingratitude. 

Vainly we call and cry, and weep; 

We can not awaken from that sleep 

The mother who loved us and gave us 

birth: 
Her dear form -ests 'neath a swell of 

earth. 

But night has fallen, the day is done, 
And sorrow reigns on his dread, black 

throne. 
"Mother is dead!" is our wailing cry. 
And hollow echoes go hurrying by. 



294. 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Oh! who can tell of a mother's love? 
Who can measure, save God above? 
And who can tell of a mother's loss, 
But those who bear that heavy cross. 

Gatloru Davidson. 



TO MY DEPARTED FATHER. 

Father — a name forever dear — 

Held in affection's spell: 
They who have known a Father's care. 

The loss can only tell! 

My father! — thou wast far away 

When I presaged thy death; 
Had I been there thy frame to stay 

And watch thy passing breath! 

The tidings came — and then to me, 
The cliarms of life were o'er! 

My father, when deprived of thee. 
The world could charm no more! 

The die was cast — and I must bear 

What orphans only know! 
A father's love no more to share, 

Exposed to every woe! 

My father, since I saw thee last. 

Oft I have wept in vain 
For life has roughly with me past; 

But we shall meet again! 

There in that bright and happy place. 

With joys forever blest, 
Where tears are chased from every face. 

We shall forever rest. 

MBS. D. JAQUBS. 



THE GOOD OLD GRANDMOTHER. 

Oh, softly wave the silver hair 

From off that aged brow! 
That crown of glory worn so long 

A fitting crown is now. 

Fold reverently the weary hands 

That toiled so long and well; 
And while your tears of sorrow fall, 

Let sweet thanksgiving swell. 

That life-work, stretching o'er long years, 

A varied web has been, 
With silver strands by sorrow wrouglit, 

And sunny gleams between. 

These silver hairs stole softly on, 

Like flakes of falling snow, 
That wrap the green earth lovingly 

When autumn breezes blow. 

Each silver hair, each wrinkle there. 
Records some good deed done — 

Some flower she cast along the way, 
Some spark from love's bright sun. 

How bright she always made her home! 
It seemed as If the floor 



Were always flecked with spots of sun, 
And barred with brightness o'er. 

The very falling of her step 

Made music as p'^e went; 
A loving song was on her lips, 

The song of full content. 

And now, in later years, her word 

Has been a blessed thing 
In many a home, where glad she saw 

Her children's children spring. 

Her widowed life has happy been, 
With brightness born of heaven; 

So pearl and gold in drapery fold 
The sunset couch at even. 

Oh, gently fold the weary hands 
That toiled so long and well! 

The spirit rose to angel-bands 
When off earth's mantle fell. 

She's safe within her Father's house, 

Where many mansions be; 
Oh, pray that thus such rest may come. 

Dear heart, to thee and me! 



LUCY. 

All night long we watched the ebbing life, 

As if its flight to stay. 
Till as the dawn was coming up, 

Our last hope passed away. 

She was the music of our home, 

A day that knew no night. 
The fragrance of our garden bower, 

A thing all smiles and light. 

Above the couch we bent and prayed. 

In the half-lighted room, 
As the bright hues of infant life 

Sank slowly into gloom. 

Each flutter of the pulse we marked. 

Each quiver of the eye; 
To the dear lips our ear we laid 

To catch the last low sigh. 

We stroked the little sinking cheeks, 

The forehead pale and fair; 
We kissed the small, round, ruby mouth. 

For Lucy still was there. 

We fondly smoothed the scattered curls 

Of her rich golden hair; 
We held the gentle palm in ours, 

For Lucy still was there. 

At last the fluttering pulse stood still; 

The death-frost through her clay 
Stole slowly; and as morn came up. 

Our sweet flower passed away. 

The form remained; but there was now 

No soul our love to share. 
No warm responding lip to kiss; 

For Lucy was not there. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



295 



"Farewell," with weeping hearts we said, 

"Child of our love and care!" 
And then we ceased to kiss those lips. 

For Lucy was not there. 

But years are moving quickly past, 

And time will soon be o'er; 
Death shall be swallowed up in lite 

On the immortal shore. 

Then shall we clasp that hand once more, 

And smooth that golden hair; 
Then shall we kiss those lips again, 

When Lucy shall be there. 

H0RAT1U3 BONAR. 



RESIGNATION. 

There is no flock, however watched and 
tended. 

But one dead lamb is there: 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended. 

But has one vacant chair. 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

Ar.d mourning for the dead; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children cry- 
ing. 

Will not be comforted. 

Let us be patient!* These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and 
vapors. 

Amid these earthly damps; 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers. 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no death! 'UHiat seems to be so is 
transition; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Wliose portal we call death. 

She is not dead — the child of our affec- 
tion — 
But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protec- 
tion. 
And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and se- 
clusion. 
By guardian angels led. 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's i)ol- 
lution. 
She lives, whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 
In those bright realms of air; 

Tear after year, her tender steps pursuing. 
Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep un- 
broken 
The bond which nature gives. 



Thinking that our remembrance, thoug-h 
unspoken, 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her; 

For when with raptures wild. 
In our embraces we again enfold her. 

She will not be a child; 

But a fair maiden in her father's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace, 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion. 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times impetuous with emo- 
tion 
And anguish long suppressed. 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like 
the ocean 
That can not be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feel- 
ing 
We may not wholly stay; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing, 
The grief that must have way. 

Henby Wadswobth Lonofellow. 



THE DYING WIFE. 

Lay the babe upon my bosom, let me feel 

her sweet, warm breath; 
For a strange thrill o'er me passes, and 1 

know that this is death. 
I would gaze upon the treasure, scarcely 

given ere I go. 
Feel her rosy, dimpled fingers wander o'er 

my cheek of snow. 
I am passing through the waters, but a. 

blessed shore appears — 
Kneel beside me, husband, dearest; let me 

kiss away thy tears. 
Wrestle with thy grief as Jacob strove, 

from midnight until day; 
It may leave an angel's blessing when it 

vanishes away. 
Lay the babe upon my bosom; 'tis not long 

she can be there. 
See how to my heart she nestles; 'tis the 

pearl I love to wear. 
If in after-years beside thee sits another in 

my chair. 
Though her voice be sweeter music and my 

face than her's less fair; 
If a cherub call thee father, far more beau- 
tiful than this, — 
Love thy first-born, O my husband; turn 

not from tlie motherless. 
Tell her sometimes of her mother — you 

will call her by my name — 
Shield her from the winds of sorrow; if 

she errs, oh, gently blame. 
Lead her sometimes where I'm resting: I 

will answer if she calls, 
And my breath will stir her ringlets as my 

voice in blessing falls. 
Her soft blue eyes will brighten with a 

wonder whence it came; 



296 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



In her heart, when years pass o'er her, she 

will find her mother's name. 
It is said that every mortal walks between 

two angels here: 
One records the ill, but blots it if before 

the midnight drear 
Man repenteth; if uncanceled, then he seals 

it for the skies, 
And the right-hand angel weepeth, bowing 

low with veiled eyes. 
I will be the right-hand angel, seeking up 

the good for heaven, 
Striving that the midnight watches find no 

misdeeds unforgii-en. 
You will not forget me, darling, when I'm 

sleeping 'neath the sod! 
Love the babe upon my bosom as I love 

thee — next to God. 



AT REST. 

■What mean these chiseled words, "At Rest," 

Upon the marble pure and white? 
■V\"liat wearied mourners are addressed? 

Wiiat loving hand the words did write? 
O winds that sigh above the dead, 
O flowers that softly bow the head, 
O leaves that rustle 'neath my tread. 
What mean these words, "At Rest"? 

"They mean 'Life's stormy voyage o'er, 

And anchored safe the storm-tossed soul': 
They mean that death can come no more. 

No more can tyrant sin control; 
They mean that now, life's danger past, 
The soul has found its home at last, 
Secure from tempest and from blast. 
Commingling witli the blest." 

Ah! can It be tliis simple phrase, 

Engraved with earnest Christian zeal, 
A solace to the heart conveys 

Like mystic inspiration real? 
And yet it does. To countless hearts 
This simple phrase its faith imparts — 
Pure messenger with heavenly darts. 
Glad sign of lasting rest. 

"At Rest" — king, emperor, and pope. 

Philosopher and hero brave: 
"At Rest" — the young with ardent hope: 

In sepulcher and briny grave. 
All hearts must feel the icy blow 
Of Death's cold hand, all mortal's foe, 
And homes and nations sure must know 

The sacred words, "At Rest." 

Full well their meaning I have learned. 

Imparted to the troubled soul; 
Full well the deeper thought discerned 
Where darkest waves of sorrow roll. 
Through summer's bloom and winter's snow. 
While countless ages come and go, 
The dead sleep on, nor sorrow know; 
Eternal is their rest. 

How like a light before concealed. 
Death's halo flashes o'er the mind. 



\Miile faith and hope are both revealed, 
And troubled souls become resigned; 

Foe in tlie new liglit we can see 

The grandeur of eternity. 

The hallowing transcendency 
Of faithful souls "At Rest." 

H. E. NOTHOMB. 



OVER THE RIVER. 

Over the river they beckon to me — 

Loved ones who've crossed to the further 
side; 
The gleam of their snowy robes I see. 
But their voices are drowned in the rush- 
ing tide. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold. 
And eyes, the reflection of heaven's own 
blue; 
He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold, 
And the pale mist hid him from mortal 
view. 
We saw not the angels who met him there; 

The gates of the city we could not see. 
Over the river, over the river. 

My brother stands waiting to welcome 
me! 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another — tlie liousehold pet; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — 

Darling Minnie! I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; 
We watched it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely 
dark. 
We know she is safe on the further side, 

■Wliere all the ransomed and angels be; 
Over the river, tlie mj'stic river. 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For none return from those quiet shores, 
Wlio cross witli tlie boatman cold and 
pale; 
We hear the dip of the golden oars. 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail — 
And lo! they have passed from our yearn- 
ing heart; 
They cross the stream, and are gone for 
aye. 
We may not sunder the veil apart 

That hides from our vision the gates of 
day; 
We only know that their bark no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; 
Yet somewhere. I know, on the unseen 
shore. 
They watch, and beckon, and wait for 
me. 

And I sit and think, when the sunset's 
gold 
Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold. 
And list for the sound of the boatman's 
oar; 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping: 
sail; 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



297 



I shall hear the boat as it gains the 
strand; 
I shall pass from sight with the boatman 
pale, 
To the better shore of the spirit-land; 
I shall know tlie loved who have gone be- 
fore, 
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
Wlien over the river, the peaceful river. 
The Angel of Death will carry me. 

Nanot a. W. Peiest. 



THE NAMELESS DEAD. 

Why do you wail, O Wind, why do you sigh, 

O Sea? 
Is it remorse for the ships gone down, with 
this pitiless shore on the lea? 
Moan, moan, moan 
In the desolate night and lone! 
Ah! what is the tale 
You would fain unveil 
In your wild, weird cries to me? 

A gleam of white on the shore! — 'tis not the 

white sea-foam. 
Nor wandering sea-bird's glimmering wing, 
for at night no sea-birds roam. 
'Tis one of the drowned — drowned 
Of the hapless homeward-bound; 
- Last night, in the dark. 
There perished a bark 
On the bar, and 'twas bound for home! 

A woman's cold white corpse — a woman so 

young and fair! 
See, the cruel storm has entwined with 
weeds the wealth of her weltering 
hair; 
And the little, the little hand 
Lies listless and limp on the sand. 
They have bound her fast 
To the wreck of a mast. 
But the wild waves would not spare! 

Look, how they bound and leap — cast them- 
selves far o'er the shore. 
Striving to seize on their stranded prey, 
and carry it off once more! 
Or is it remorse or dread. 
Or a longing to bury its dead, 
That makes the surge 
On the ocean-verge 
So incessantly howl and roar? 

Where do they list for her step? where do 

they look for her face? 
Where are they waiting to see her onre 
more in the old familiar place? 
Dead, dead, dead! 
In vain will their tears be shed; 
For not one of them all, 
Alas! will fall 
On that bosom's marble grace! 

Why do you sigh, O Sea? why do you wail, 

O ■Wind? 
■Wliy do you murmur, in mournful tone, like 

things with a human mind? 



Wail, wall, wail, 
Articulate ocean and gale! 

For the loveliness rare, 

So pallid and fair, 
Tou slew in your fury blind. 

Let us bear her away to a grave in the 

churchyard's calm green breast. 
Where the sound of the wind and waves In 
strife may never her peace molest. 
Though we can not carve her name. 
She will slumber all the same; 
And the wild-rose bloom 
Shall cover her tomb. 
And she shall have perfect rest. 

Thomas Hood. 



THE BURDEN OF SORROW. 

Our deepest sorrow no words can tell; 
No name through sound breathes the soul'i 

deep spell 
Of relentless grief when life is fled. 
And our loved, howe\'er dear, are dead; 
And the tears we weep are wept in vain. 
And the heart is bowed in bitter pain 
Because of a word we left unsaid — 
A word of love for our precious dead. 



GONE TO THE GRAVE. 

Thou art gone to the grave! but we will 
not deplore thee. 
Though sorrows and darkness encompass 
the tomb; 
The Savior hath passed through its por- 
tals before thee, 
And the lamp of his love is thy guide 
through the gloom. 

Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer 
behold thee, 
Nor tread the rough paths of the world 
by thy side; 
rut the wide arms of mercy are spread to 
enfold thee. 
And sinners may hope, for the Sinless 
hath died. 

Thou art gone to the grave! and. Its man- 
sions forsaking. 
Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lin- 
gered long; 
But the sunshine of glory beamed bright 
on thy waking, 
And full on thine ear burst the sera- 
phim's song. 

Thou art gone to the grave! but we will 
not deplore thee, 
Since God was thy Ransom, thy Guar- 
dian, and Guide: 
He gave thee, he took thee, and he will 
restore thee; 
And death has no sting, for the Savior 
has died. 

RSQINALn ITebke.. 



298 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



MOZART S REQUIEM. 

The tongue of the vigilant cloci. tolled one, 

In a, deep and hollow tone; 
The shrouded moon looked out upon 
A cold, dank region, more cheerless and dun 

By her lurid light that shone. 

Mozart now rose from a restless bed, 

And his heart was sick with care: 
Though long had he wooingly sought towed 
Sweet Sleep, 'twas in vain, for the coy maid 
fled, 
Though he followed her everywhere. 

He knelt to the God of his worship 'hen. 

And breathed a fervent prayer; 
'Twas balm to his soul, and he rose again 
With a strengthened spirit, but started 
when 
He marked a stranger there. 

He was tall, the stranger who gazed on him, 
Wrapped high in a sable shroud; 

His cheek was pale, and his eye was dim; 

And the melodist trembled in every limb. 
The while his heart beat loud. 

"Mozart, there is one whose errand I bear. 
Who can not be known to thee; 

He grieves for a friend, and would have 
thee prepare 

A requiem, blending a mournful air 
With the sweetest melody." 

"I'll furnish the requiem, then." he cried, 

"When this moon has waned away." 
The stranger bowed, yet no word replied. 
But fled like the shade on a mountain's 
side 
When the sunlight hides its ray. 

Mozart grew pale when the vision fled, 
And his heart beat high with fear: 

He knew 'twas a messenger sent from the 
dead 

To warn him that soon he must take his bed 
In the dark, chill sepulcher. 

He knew that the days of his life were told, 
And his breast grew faint within: 

The blood through his bosom crept slowly 
and cold. 

And his lamp of life could barely hold 
Tlie flame that was flickering. 

Tet he went to his task with cheerful zeal, 
Wliile his days and nights were one; 

He spoke not, he moved not, but only to 
kneel 

With the holy prayer, "O God, I feel 
•Tis best thy will be done." 

He gazed on his loved one, who cherished 

him well. 
And weepingly hung over him; 
"This music will chime with my funeral 

knell. 
And my spirit shall float, at the passing 

bell. 
On the notes of this requiem." 



The cold moon waned: on that cheerless day 

The stranger appeared once more; 
Mozart had finished his requiem lay. 
But e'er the last notes had died away. 
His spirit had gone before. 

RuFUS Dawks. 



ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME? 

Each day, when the glow of sunset 

Fades in the western sky. 
And the wee ones, tired of playing. 

Go tripping lightly by, 
I steal away from my husband. 

Asleep in his easy chair, 
And watcii from the open doorway 

Their faces fresh and fair. 

Alone In the dear old homestead 

That once was full of life. 
Ringing with girlish laughter. 

Echoing boyish strife. 
We two are waiting together; 

And oft. as the shadows come, 
With tremulous voice he calls me, 

"It is night! are the children home?" 

"Yes, love!" I answer him gently. 

"They're all home long ago"; 
And I sing in my quivering treble, 

A son.g so soft and low, 
Till the old man drops to slumber 

With his head upon his hand, 
.^nd I tell to myself the number 

At home in the better land. 

At home, where never a sorrow- 
Shall dim their eyes with tears! 

Where the smile of God is on them 
Through all the summer years! 

I know, — yet my arms are empty. 
That fondly folded seven. 

And the mother heart within me 
Is almost starved for heaven. 

Sometimes, in the dusk of evening, 

I only shut my eyes. 
And the children are all about me, 

A vision from the skies: 
The babes whose dimpled fingers 

Lost the way to my breast. 
And the beautiful ones, the angels. 

Passed to the world of the blest. 

With never a cloud upon thetn, 

I see their radiant brows; 
My boys that I gave to freedom — 

The red sword sealed their vows! 
In a tangled Southern forest. 

Twin brothers bold and brave, 
They fell; and the flag they died for, 

Thank God! floats over their grave. 

A breath, and a vision is lifted 

Away on wings of light. 
And again we two are together. 

All alone in the night. 
They tell me his mind is failing-. 

But I smile at idle fears; 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



299 



He is only back with the children, 
In the dear and peaceful years. 

And still, as the summer sunset 

Fades away in the west, 
And the wee ones, tired of playing. 

Go trooping home to rest, 
My husband calls from his corner, 

"Say, love, have the children come?" 
And I answer, with eyes uplifted, 

"Yes, dear, they are all at home." 

Masuabet E. Sanostek. 



ANGEL WATCHERS. 

Angel faces watch my pillow, angel voices 

haunt my sleep. 
And upon the winds of midnight shinins? 

pinions round me sweep. 
Floating downward on the starlight two 

bright infant forms I see; 
They are mine, my own bright darlings, 

come from heaven to visit me. 

Eartlily children smile upon me. but these 

little ones above 
Were the first to stir the fountains of a 

mother's deathless love. 
And as nnw they watch my slumber, while 

their soft eyes on me shine, 
God forgive a mortal yearning still to call 

his angels mine- 
Earthly children fondly call me. but no 

mortal voice can seem 
Sweet as those that whisper "Mother!" mid 

the glories of my dream: 
Tears will pass, and earthly prattlers cease 

perchance to lisp my name. 
But my angel babies' accents will be ever- 
more the same. 

And the bright band now around me from 

their home perchance will rove, 
In their strength no more depending on my 

constant care and love: 
But my first-born still shall wander from 

the sky in dreams to rest 
Their soft cheeks and shining tresses on 

an earthly mother's breast. 

Time may steal away the freshness, or 

some whelming grief destroy 
All the hope that erst had blossomed, in 

mj' summer-time of joy: 
Earthly children may forsake me, earthly 

friends perhaps betray. 
Every tie that now unites me to this life 

may pass away; 

But, unchanged, those angel watchers, from 

their blessed, immortal home. 
Pure and fair, to cheer the sadness of my 

darkened dreams shall come: 
And I can not feel forsaken: for, though 

reft of earthly love. 
Angel children call me "Mother!" and my 

soul will look above. 

Rosa Vbbtnkb Jettrkt. 



OUR BELOVED. 

And our beloved have departed. 
While we tarry, broken-hearted. 

In the dreamy, empty house; 
They have ended life's brief story. 
They have reached tlieir home of glory. 

Over death victorious. 

Hush that sobbing, weep no more lightly; 
On we travel, daily, nightly, 

To the rest that they have found. 
Are we not upon the river. 
Sailing fast, to meet forever 

On more holy, happy ground? 

Every hour that passes o'er us 
Speaks of comfort yet before us. 

Of our journey's rapid rate; 
And, like passing vesper bells. 
The clock of time its chiming tells. 

At eternity's broad gate. 

Ah! the way is shining clearer. 
As we journey ever nearer 

To the everlasting home. 
Friends who there await the landing, 
C> inrades round the throne now standing. 

We salute jou, and we come. 



CELIA. 

[On the 11th of December. 1888. occurred the 
death of Celia (Kilpatricki B.vrum. Celia and 
Rhotla were two sisters in Chri.st who were engaged 
in the consecrated service of helping to publish the 
gosj)eI at the office of The Gospel Trumpet, a holi- 
ness periodical published at that time at Grand 
Junction, Mich., the editor of which was the author 
of thia poem, Daniel S. Warner.] 

And is she gone — dear Celia gone? 

Such news would tax credulity 
Did not the Spirit's previous tone 

Toll in our bosom mournfully 
The thought, "She's left this mortal clime. 

And we shall see her face no more 
Until we pass the bounds of time 

And meet upon celestial shore." 

'Twas in our heart to tune our lyre 

To sing thy cheerful wedding-day. 
But debts are made by fond desire. 

More than our fleeting time can pay; 
So now we sing our mournful lay — 

Another epoch followed soon. 
To thy poor soul a brighter day 

Than that, when blessed beside thy 
groom. 

The Author of these feeling hearts 

Chides not affection's flowing tears: 
But with them soothing balm imparts. 

And in his arms of love he bears 
Poor nature's heavy burden up; 

So when bereavements press our mind 
Grace drops such sweetness in the cup 

That even then we comfort find. 

But is she gone whose heart e'er burned 
With such devoted, fervent zeal? 



300 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



To bless mankind her spirit yearned, 
Wislied every heart God's love might seal. 

She thought no sacrifice on earth too dear, 
No painful toil and care too great. 

That all this world the truth might hear 
And gain redemption's blissful state. 

O sister, while thy eyes beheld 

Whate'er thy willing hands could do, 
No needed rest thy footsteps held, 

No moderation couldst thou know, 
Regarding not thy slender frame — 

To pious toil so passionate — 
Till thy enfeebled limbs refrained 

To execute thy heart's mandate. 

But hath God quenched that ardent thirst 

To labor in the Lord's employ? 
Her active soul in paradise 

With rest alone would seem to cloy. 
Nay, formed to constant action here. 

Which to our Father honor brings, 
The soul will find sweet labor there, 

And swifter still unfold her wings. 

So we conclude our sister's heart. 

Where glowed such wondrous zeal and 
love, 
Is not compelled with them to part 

Since gone from earth to realms above; 
But Jesus saw her faithfulness, 

And, needing on his higher plane. 
One tried and true in holiness, 

Made choice to call dear Celia'.s name. 

And he who placed to her reward 

Much labor freely given him 
Saw fit, in kindness, to award 

Her soul with patient months of pain 
Though oft the prayer of faith was poured 

Around her wasted, stricken form. 
Relief was temp'ral; for the Lord 

Would have her in his better home. 

Now gone from us, yet she's not dead; 

Despoiled, 'tis true, her house of clay; 
But when that sacred spot you tread, 

Methinks you'll hear an angel say, 
"She is not here: to her was given 

A life that soars above the tomb." 
The angels bore her safe to heaven, 

Free from mortal pain and gloom. 

When sickness had already cast 

Its waning paleness on thy cheek, 
God folded thee within the breast 

Of love, connubial, warm, and deep. 
Thank Heaven for this provision, kind, 

To bless, support, and comfort thee. 
On those strong arms thy life declined 

Till from thy suffering body free. 

God bless you, brother, now bereft 

Of her so dear to you, and all! 
To cheer thy heart this boon is left: 

'Twas thine to give, at Heaven's call, 
A sacrifice so paramount. 

Beloved on earth, and welcomed home 
To glory's bright elysian mount 

By all the angels round the throne. 



Dear Celia's gone! How sad the news. 

Dear saints, this mourning Trumpet 
brings! 
The hands that dropped refreshing dews 

Upon its flying angel winys. 
And toiled so hard to set the lines 

That burned upon your hearts with love, 
Inspired your souls a thousand times. 

Has gone to blissful toils above. 

Tea, sad indeed to us it seems! 

Yet would it not be selfishness 
Did we not bless her boundless gains, 

Since she has lived the world to bless? 
Ah! we will always cherish here 

Her sacred name in memory. 
And ever keep our title clear 

To meet her in the heavenly. 

And, gracious God! O bless, we pray! 

Dear Rhoda's kind and weeping heart, 
Wlio toiled with her in harmony. 

How sad that these dear ones must part! 
'Twas meet, dear child, that you should be 

With Celia to her peaceful end. 
To bless her witli thy sympathy, 

And every comfort to extend. 

These four years' labor, hand in hand. 

Knit thy two hearts forever one. 
God give thee grace yet firm to stand 

Until thy labor, too, I's done; 
Then — oh, how sweet to contemplate 

That morning when the trump shall 
sound, 
When you shall in immortal state 

Embrace, and be together crowned! 

These thoughts, suggested by her life. 

We give to workers in her stead; 
Be diligent, lest labors rife. 

Accumulating, grieve the dead; 
But let us also profit by 

The dear one's overreaching toil: 
These holy temples, born to die. 

Oh, crush not premature with moil! 

Let all this office sacred be 

To Him who called our loved on high: 
Each spot recalls her memory; 

Each object here that greets the eye 
By Celia's hands is sanctified. 

Who handled them in Jesus' name. 
And now with angels glorified. 

Loves yet the truth these type proclaim. 

Ah! now invert the column rules. 

And dress The Trumpet sad with crape, 
That all who read may know it feels 

And weeps the loss of friend so great. 
Her artful fingers shall no more 

Set up its many vocal peers. 
Nor shall her anxious heart yet pour 

Upon its sheets her moist'ning tears. 

Her gentle voice, so fine and sweet. 
The Trumpet organ's highest key, 

Is singing now at Jesus' feet. 

With Heaven's joyful minstrelsy. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



301 



Oh! could we near the pearly gate 
And listen to her ransomed song, 

Out souls would more felicitate 
The bliss of that immortal one. 

Daniel S. Wabnkk. 



MEMORIAL. 

[The following linos were written for and read on 
Daniel S. Warner's funeral occasion, Dec. 15, 1895.] 

Once more we hear Death's angel step 

Upon tlia patli from heaven; 
Swiftly he comes to execute 

Jehovah's message given. 

He marks the object of his love 

And comes with silent tread; 
He stops in stillness of the night 

Beside the Christian's bed. 

"Pilgrim, thy task on earth is o'er," 

He speaks in accents low; 
"I'll carry thee to a better land, 

Above this world of woe, 

There In Abraham's bosom blessed, 
There to meet thy Lord, 
And holy men of ages past. 

Who hiunbly walked with God." 

Our friend and brother dear, whose life 
Made bright this life of ours. 

Has passed awa>' mid early snow. 
Soon after autumn's flowers. 

No days of lingering sickness came 

To warn us of his death. 
No vision from the silent land 

To tell of parting breath. 

The light's gone out, but brighter burns 

In a holier, happier spliere. 
Calmly, suddenly, peacefully. 

Like the falling meteor. 

But has the light gone out? Ah, no! 

But, like the meteor's glare, 
Though suddenly falling from its place. 

Bright rays still linger there. 

Bright rays from a life so pure and fair 

Shall shine forever on. 
Till time shall cease and be no mere. 

And all are lighted home. 

As the peaceful river in its flow 

Doth cheer us with its song. 
So in example he doth live 

To help the pilgrim on. 

His gentle words and kindly acts 

To us in trial's hour 
Were like the summer's evening dew 

Upon the drooping flower. 

His face was read as one may read 

A pure and holy book. 
While truth and right and honesty 

Were stamped on every look. 



His holy, happy walk with God 

Cheers us to onward go 
And fight the fight of faith and love. 

And push the battle through. 

But he is gone; that face well see 

No more on eartlily shore; 
Only in memory can we view 

Those sunlit features o'er. 

The voice that often spok<! to us 

In sermon and in rhyme 
Tlie story of the humble cross. 

Now sings in sweeter clime. 

We'll miss him in the hour of prayer: 
His voice of praise we'll miss; 

But sweet to know his praise is heard 
In a land of purest bliss. 

Long may his pure devoted life 

Rebuke tlie raging wrong; 
His joy and hope and faithfulness 

Bids us in God be strong. 

Today we lay him in the tomb. 

His narrow house of clay; 
'Twill there in peaceful slumber lie. 

Awaiting that great day 

^'hen soul and body reunite. 

And hasten from the tomb 
To soar away in radiant love 

To an endless happy home. 

Chables E. Obb. 



ON THE DEATH OF MY GI^ND- 
MOTHER. 

There on her bier slie sleeps! 
E'en yet her face its native sweetness keeps. 
Te need not mourn above that faded form; 
Her soul defies the ravage of the worm; 
Her better half has sought its heavenly rest. 
Unstained, unharmed, unfettered, unop- 

pressed; 
And far above all worldly pain and woe. 
She sees that God she almost saw below. 
She trod the path of virtue from her birth. 
And finds in heaven wliat she sought on 

earth; 
She wins the smile of her eternal King, 
And sings his praise where kindred angels 

sing. 
Her holy patience, her unshaken faith. 
How well they smoothed the rugged path of 

Death! 
She met his dread approach without alarm. 
For heaven in prospect makes the spirit 

calm. 
In steadfast trust and Christian virtue 

stroll^', 
Hope on her brow, and Jesus on her tongue; 
He.- faith, like Stephen's, softened her dis- 
tress — 
Scarce less her anguish, scarce her patience 

less! 

ALFREn TENVT80N. 



S02 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE MOTHER AND HER DYING BOY. 

BOY. 
My mother, my mother! Oh, let me depart! 
Tour tears and your pleadings are swords 

to my heart. 
I hear gentle voices, thnt chide my delay; 
I see lovely visions, that woo me away. 
My prison is broken, my trials are o'er; 

mother, my mother, detain me no more. 

MOTHER. 
And will you, then, leave us, ray brightest 

my best? 
And will you run nestling no more to my 

breast? 
The summer is coming to sky and to bower; 
The tree that you planted will soon be in 

flower; 
You loved the soft season of song and of 

bloom; 
Oh, shall it return and find you in your 

tomb? 

BOY. 
Yes, Mother, I loved in the sunshine to 

play. 
And talk with the birds and the blossoms 

all day; 
But sweeter the songs of the spirits on 

high. 
And brighter the glories around God in 

the sky, 

1 see them, I hear them, they pull at my 

heart; 
My mother, my mother, Oh, let me depart! 

MOTHER. 
Oh, do not desert us! Our hearts will be 

drear, 
Our home will be lonely, when you are 

not here; 
Your brother will sigh mid his play tilings, 

and say, 
"I wonder dear William so long can delay." 
That foot like the wild wind, that glance 

like a star — 
Oh! what will this world be when tliey are 

afar? 

BOY. 
This world, dearest Mother — oh, live not 

for this! 
No, press on with me to the fulness of 

bliss. 
And, trust me. whatever bright fields I 

may roam. 
My heart will not wander from you and 

from home; 
Believe me still near you, on pinions of 

love: 
Expect me to hail you, when soaring above. 

MOTHER. 
Well, go, my beloved: the conflict is o'er. 
My pleas are all selfish; I urge them no 

more. 
Wliy claim your bright spirit down here to 

the clod. 
So thirsting for freedom, so ripe for its 

God? 



Farewell, then, farewell, till we meet at 

the throne, 
Wliere love fears no parting, and tears are 

unknown. 

BOY. 
Oh, glory! Oh, glory! what music! what 

light! 
What wonders break in on my heart, on my 

sight! 
I come, blessed spirits; I hear you from 

high. 
O frail, faithless nature, can this be to die? 
So near, what! so near to my Savior and 

King? 
Oh, help me, ye angels, his glories to sing! 



DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

With what unknown delight the mother 
smiled 
When this frail treasure in her arms she 
pressed! 

Her prayer was heard — she clasped a liv- 
ing child; 
But how the gift transcends the poor re- 
quest! 

A child was all she asked, with many a 
vow; 

Mother — behold the child — an angel now! 

Now in her Father's house slie finds a place. 
Or if to earth she takes a transient 
flight, 
'Tis to fulfil the purpose of his grace — 
To guide thy footsteps to the world of 
light; 
A ministering spirit sent to thee. 
That where she is, there thou mayst also be. 



THE DYING MOTHER. 

I do remember, and will ne'er forget 
The dying eye! That eye alone was bright, 
And brighter grew as nearer death ap- 
proached: 
As I have seen the gentle little flower 
Look fairest in the silver beam which fell 
Reflected from the thunder-cloud, that soon 
Came down and o'er the desert scattered far 
And wide its loveliness. She made a sign 
To bring her babe; 'twas brought and by 

her placed. 
She looked upon its face, that neither 

smiled 
Nor wept, nor knew who gazed upon't; and 

laid 
Her hand upon its little breast, and sought 
For it with look that seemed to penetrate 
The heavens, unutterable blessings, such 
As God to dying parents only grants 
For infants left behind them in the world. 
"God, keep my child!" we heard her say, 

and heard 
No more. The angel of the covenant 
Was come, and faithful to His promise, 
stood 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



303 



Prepared to walk with her through death's 
darU vale. 

And now her eyes grew bright, and 
brighter still, 

Too bright for ours to look upon, suf- 
fused 

With many tears, and closed without a 
cloud. 

They set, as sets the morning star, which 
goes 

Not down behind the darkened west, nor 
hides 

Obscured among the tempest of the sky, 

Eut melts away into the light of heaven. 

ROBEUIT POLLOK. 



MY MOTHER S PICTURE. 

Oh that those lips had language! Life has 
passed 

Wath me but roughly, since I heard them 
last. 

My mother, when I learned that thou wast 
dead. 

Say, wast thou conscious of the tears 1 
shed? 

Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 

Wretch even then, life's journey just be- 
gun? 

Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a 
kiss, 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss 

Ah, that maternal smile! it answers — Yes! 

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial-day: 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away; 
And, turning from my nursery window, 

drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 
But was it such? It was. 'Wliere thou art 

gone. 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
And if I meet thee on that peaceful shore. 
The parting word shall pass my lips no 

more. 

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my con- 
cern. 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return: 
What ardently I wished, I long: believed; 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived: 
By expectation every day beguiled. 
Dupe of tomorrow, even when a child. 
Thus many a sad tomorrow came and went 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 
T learned at last submission to my lot; 
But, though I less deplored thee, never for- 
got. 



My boast is not that I derive my birth 
From loins enthroned and rulers of the 

earth; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies. 
And now, farewell! Time, unrevoked, has 

run 
His wonted course, yet what I wished is 

done. 



Ey contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er 

again; 
To have renewed the joys that once were 

mine. 
Without the sin of violating thine: 
And, while the wings of fancy still are free. 
And I can view this mimic show of thee. 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft: 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me 

left. 

William Cowpeb. 



WHICH SHALL CO? 

The mother sat with her children three: 
The Angel of Death drew near. 

"I come for one of thy babes," quoth he; 

"Of the little band, say, which shall it be? 

I will not choose, but leave it for thee 
To give me the one least dear." 

The mother started, with movement wild. 
And drew them all close to her heart: 
The Angel reached forth and touched the 

child 
"miose placid features, whene'er she smiled. 
Reflected the mother's beauty mild; 

"With this one," said he, "canst thou 
part?" 

"With this one? O God! She is our first- 
born — 
As well take my life away! 
I never lived till that blessed morn 
"UTien slie, as a bud. on my breast was 

worn: 
WTthout her the world would be all for- 
lorn. 
Spare this one, kind Death, I pray!" 

The Angel drew backwards, then touched 
again: 
This time 'twas a noble boy. 
"Will it cause thee, to part with him, less 

pain?" 
"Hold, touch him not!" she cried, "refrain! 
He's an only son — if we had but twain — 
Oh, spare us our pride and our joy!" 

Once more the Angel stood waiting there; 

Then he gently laid his hand 
On tlie shining head of a babe, so fair 
That even Death pitied and touched with 

care; 
■While the mother prayed, "Merciful Heaven, 
forbear! 
'Tis the pet of our little band!" 

"Then which?" said the Angel; "for God 
calls one." 
The mother bowed down her head; 
Love's troubled fount was in tears o'errun — 
A murmur — a struggle — and grace had won: 
"Not my will," she said, "but thine b« 
done!" 
The pet lamb of the fold lay dead. 

Mks. Elizabetb C. KmnBT. 



304 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. 

She hath gone in the springtime of life, 
Ere her slcy had been dimmed by a cloud, 
While her heart with the rapture of love 
was yet rife. 
And the hopes of her youth were un- 
bowed — 
From the lovely, who loved her too well: 
From the heart that had grown to her 
own; 
From the sorrow which late o'er her young 
spirit fell. 
Like a dream of the night she hath flown; 
And the eartli hath received to its bosom 

its trust — ■ 
Ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust. 

The spring, in its loveliness dressed, 

Will return with its music-winged hours. 
And, kissed by the breath of the sweet 
southwest, 
The buds shall burst out in flowers; 
And the flowers her srave-sod above. 

Though the sleeper beneath recks it not, 
Shall quickly he strown by the hand of 
Love, 
To cover with beauty the spot. 
Meet emblems are they of the pure one 

and bright. 
Who faded and fell with so early a blight. 

Aye, the spring will return — but the blos- 
som 
That bloomed in our presence the sweet- 
est. 
By the spoiler is borne from the cherish- 
ing bosom, 
Th"e loveliest of all and the fleetest. 
The music of stream and of bird 

Shall come back when the winter is o'er; 
But the voice that was dearest to us shall 
be heard 
In our desolate chambers no more. 
The sunlight of May on the waters shall 

quiver — ■ 
The light of her eye hath departed forever. 

As the bird to its sheltering nest, 

W'hen the storm on the hills is abroad. 
So her spirit hath flown from this world of 
unrest 
To repose on the bosom of God, 
Wliere the sorrows of earth never more 
May fling o'er its brightness a stain; 
Where in rapture and love it shall ever 
adore. 
With a gladness unmingled with pain; 
And its thirst shall be slacked by the 

waters which spring 
Like a river of light, from the throne of 
the King! 

There is weeping on earth for the lost. 

There is bowing in grief to the ground. 
But rejoicing and praise mid the sanctified 
host. 
For a spirit in paradise found. 
Though brightness hath passed from the 
earth. 



Yet a star is new-born in the sky. 
And a soul hath gone home to the land of 
its birth, 
Wliere are pleasures and fulness of joy; 
And a new harp is strung, and a new song 

is given 
To tlie breezes that float o'er the gardens of 
heaven. 

William H. Burleioh. 



I HAVE NO MOTHER NOW. 

I hear the soft wind sigliing 

Through every bush and tree. 
Where now her form is lying 

Away from love and me. 
Tears from mine eyes are starting, 

And sorrow shades my brow; 
Oh, weary was our parting — 

I have no mother now. 

I see the pale moon shining 

Upon the white head-stone; 
The rose-bush round it twining 

Is here like me, alone. 
And just like me is weeping 

Those dewdrops from the bough. 
Long time has she been sleeping — 

I have no mother now. 

My heart is ever lonely. 

My life is drear and sad; 
'Twas her dear presence only 

That made my spirit glad. 
From morning until even. 

Care rests upon iny brow; 
She's gone from n\e to heaven — 

I have no mother now. 



/ 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 

There is a Reaper whose name is Death, 

And, with his sickle keen. 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. 

And the flowers that grow between. 

"Shall I have naught that is fair?" said 
he, 
"Have naught but the bearded grain? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet 
to me, 
I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers -with tearful eyes. 

He kissed their drooping leaves; 
It was for the Lord of paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

"My Lord hath need of these flowerets gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled; 
"Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

■V\Tiere he was once a child. 

"They shall all bloom in fields of light. 

Transplanted by my care. 
And saints upon their garments white. 

These sacred blossoms wear." 



SORROW, BEREAVExMENT, DEATH. 



305 



And the mother gave, in tears and pain. 
The flowers she most did love: 

She knew she should find them all again 
In the fields of light above. 

Oh, n.t in cruelty, not In wrath. 

The reaper came that day; 
'Twas an antrel visited the green earth, 

And took tiie flowers away. 

He.nbv Wadswoeth Longfellow. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

I know thou art gone to the land of thy 
rest; 
Then, why should my soul be so sad? 
I know tliou art gone where the weary are 
blest. 
And the mourner looks up and is glad; 
Where love has put off in the land of its 
birth. 
The stain it had gathered in this. 
And hope, the sweet singer that gladdened 
the earth. 
Lies asleep in tlie bosom of bliss. 

I know thou art gone where thy forehead 
is starred 
With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul; 
Where the light of thy loveliness can not 
be marred. 
Nor thy heart be flung back from its 
goal. 
I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that 
flows 
Through a land where they do not for- 
get; 
That sheds over memory only repose. 
And takes from it only regret. 

This eye must be dark, that so long has 
been dim. 
Ere again it may gaze upon thine; 
But my heart has revealings of thee and 
thy home. 
In many a token and sign; 
I never look up, with a vow, to the sky 

But a light like thy beauty is there; 
And I hear a low murmur, like thine, in 
reply. 
When I pour out my spirit in prayer. 

In the far-away dwelling, wherever it be, 

I believe thou hast visions of mine; 
And the love that made all things as 
music to me, 
I have not yet learned to resign. 
In the hush of the night, on the waste of 
the sea. 
Or alone with the breeze on the hill, 
I have ever a presence that whispers of 
thee. 
And my spirit lies down and is still. 

And though like a mourner that sits by a 

tomb, 
I am wrapped in a mantle of care; 
Yet the grief of my bosom— oh ! call it not 

gloom — 



Is not the black grief of despair. 
By sorrow revealed, as the stars are by 
night. 
Far off a bright vision appears; 
And hope, like the rainbow — a creature of 
ligh t— 
Is born, like the rainbow, in tears. 



TWO LITTLE HANDS. 

Two little hands are sweetly folded 

Upon a silent breast; 
The little heart within has numbered 

Its throbs and gone to rest. 

Two little eyes are closed forever 

To earth's unholy sight; 
Two little cherub wings now hover 

In heaven's golden light. 

Two little feet have ceased to travel 

Upon the shores of time; 
A little gem, released from trouble. 

Has gone above to shine. 

Oh, what a comfort, dear Redeemer, 
Thy grace and love hath given 

That when life's winter day is ended 
We'll meet our child in heaven! 

Daniel S. Warnkb. 



THE SPIRIT ROSEBUD. 

Baby is dead— speak low, step light; 

How tranquil is her rest! 
Her tiny hands were placed last night 

Upon her waxen breast. 
And when the morn broke calm and bright. 

And deep was our despair. 
We gazed upon her face so white. 

And saw a sweet smile there. 

Tlie mourning mother sobbed aloud 

As she her darling scanned; 
And while each head in sorrow bowed. 

She fixed within its hand 
A tiny rosebud, fresh and sweet. 

Which round its perfume shed. 
"This, this," she moaned, "is emblem meet 

For my dear, precious dead!" 

Next day, while sorrowing neighbors stood, 

Holding sweet flowers of spring. 
The tiny rosebud, red as blood. 

Showed signs of opening; ' 

And ere the funeral rites were through 

Each mourner in the room 
Thrilled with astonishment to view 

The bud burst in full bloom. 

The clergyman, with trembling voice 

And deep emotion, said: 
"Rejoice, my sorrowing friends, rejoice' 

The baby is not dead! 
God, in his loving tenderness. 

This token sweet has given. 
That she who budded in distress 

Is blooming now In heaven!" 

Fbahcis S. Shtth. 



306 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE LITTLE GRAVE. 

"It's only a little grave," they said, 
"Only just a child that's dead"; 
And so they carelessly turned away 
From the mound the spade had made that 

day. 
Ah! they did not know how deep a shade 
That little grave in our home had made. 

I know the coffin was narrow and small; 
One yard would have served for an ample 

pall; 
And one man in his arms could have borne 

away 
The rosebud and its freight of clay: 
But I know that darling hopes were hid 
Beneath that little coffin lid. 

I knew that a mother had stood that day 
■With folded hands by that form of clay; 
I know that burning tears were hid, 
"'Neath the drooping lash and aching lid"; 
And I knew her lip and cheek and brow 
"U'ere almost as white as her baby's now. 

I knew that some things were hid away — 
The crimson frock and wrapping-s gay, 
The little sock and half-worn shoe. 
The cap with its plumes and tassels blue. 
An empty crib with its covers spread. 
As white as the face of the sinless dead. 

'Tis a little grave, but oh, beware! 
For world-wide hopes are buried there; 
And ye perhaps, in coming years. 
May see like her, through blinding tears. 
How much of light, how much of joy, 
Is buried with a.i only boy! 



THE CLOSING SCENE. 

(Pronounced by the Westminster Review to be the 
finest of American poems.] 

Within his sober realm of leafless trees, 
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air 
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of 
ease. 
When all tlie fields are lying brown and 
bare. 

The gray barns looking from their hazy 
hills 

O'er the dim waters widening in the vales. 
Sent down the air a greeting to the mills. 

On the dull thunder of alternate flails. 

All sights were mellowed and all sounds 

subdued. 

The hills seemed farther and the streams 

sang low, 

As in a dream the distant woodman hewed 

His winter log with many a muffled blow. 

The embattled forests, erewhile armed in 
gold. 
Their banners bright with every martial 
hue, 



Now stood like some, sad beaten host of 

old. 
Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. 

On somber wings the vulture tried his 
flight; 
The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's 
complaint; 
And, like a star slow drowning in the light, 
The village church-vane seemed to pale 
and faint. 

The sentinel-cock upon the hillside crew, — 
Crew thrice, — and all was stiller than 
before; 
Silent till some replying wanderer blew 
His alien horn, and then was heard no 
more. 

Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall 
crest. 
Made garrulous trouble round the un- 
fledged young; 
And where the oriole hung her swaying 
nest. 
By every light wind like a censer swung; 

Where sang the noisy masons of tlie eaves, 
Tlie busy swallows circling ever near. 

Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes. 
An early harvest and a plenteous year; 

Where every bird which charmed the ver- 
nal feast 
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings 
at morn. 
To warn the reapers of the rosy east, — 
All now were songless, empty, and for- 
lorn. 

Alone, from out the stubble piped the 
quail, 
And croaked the crow through all tlie 
dreamy gloom; 
Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale. 
Made echo to the distant cottage loom. 

Tliere was no bud, no bloom upon the bow- 
ers; 
The spiders wove their thin .shrouds night 
by night; 
Tlie thistle-down, the only ghost of (low- 
ers. 
Sailed slowly by — passed noiseless out 
of sight. 

Amid all this, in this most cheerless air. 
And where the woodbine sheds upon the 

porch 
Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood 

there 
Firing the floor with his inverted torch — 

Amid all this, the center of the scene. 
The white-haired matron, with monoto- 
nous tread, 
Plied her swift wheel, and with her joy- 
less mien 
Sat like a Fate, and watched the flying 
thread. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



307 



She had known sorrow; lie had walked with 
her, 
Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen 
crust; 
And in the dead leaves still she heard the 
stir 
Of his black mantle trailing in the dust. 

■While yet her cheek was bright wlUi sum- 
mer bloom, 
Her country summoned, and she gave her 
all; 
And twice war bowed to her his sable 
plume — 
Regave the swords to rust upon her wall. 

Regave the swords, but not the hand that 
drew, 

And struck for liberty its dying blow; 
Nor him who, to his sire and country true. 

Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe. 

Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went 

on. 

Like the low murmur of a hive at noon; 

Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone 

Breathed through her lips a sad and 

tremulou.s tune. 

At last the thread was snapped, — her head 
was bowed; 
Life dropped the distaff through her 
hand.") serene; 
And loving neighbors smoothed her care- 
ful shroud, — • 
While death and winter closed the au- 
tumn scene. 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 



SHE IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEP- 
ETH." 

Not dead! oh, say not she is dead; 

That word hath such a mournful sound. 
Her radiant soul hath only spread 

Its wings, in search of holier ground, 
And left to cold and silent sleep 
The faded shrine o'er which we weep. 

She is not dead: it is not death, 

■RTien heaven-bound spirits leave their 
clay. 

As yields the rose its fragrant breath 
■Wlien evening zephyrs round it play. 

Or lingering starlight dies away 

Amid the rosy flush of day. 

She is not dead; we have consigned 
To earth's cold breast a lovely form. 

That for a little season shrined 
A spirit joyous, frank, and warm; 

A spirit which has gone above 

To dwell with Him whose name is Love. 

We know she is not dead, but still 
TTpon our hearts a shadow lies; 

We miss (and, oh! we ever will) 
The sunshine of her lips and eyes. 



The loving smile which gave her face 
Its eloquent and winning grace. 

And yet how selfish is the love 

That would have held her lingering here! 
A stricken flower, a wearied dove. 

Too fragile for our stormy sphere — 
When that which we call death has brought 
The peace and rest our dear one sought; 
To the wan flower eternal spring. 
Strength to the weak bird's drooping wing. 
MBS. .\I. J. E. Cbawtobd. 



GONE. 

Gone, to return no more! 

Gone from our midst, so joyous and so 
young, 

His heart with youth's fresh gladness run- 
ning o'er. 
And on his lips life's pleasant songs half 
sung. 

Gone from our midst! Our hearts will 
wait in vain 

To hear his dear returning step again. 

He went from us so strong. 

At early morn, with step so firm and 

light; 
The noontide saw him sadly borne along 
O'er the same paths; and in tlie still, 

calm night. 
Unconscious of the loved ones round his 

bed, 
The low faint breathing ceased — and he 

was dead! 

When morning came, the warm. 

Glad sunshine through the shaded case- 
ment gleamed, 

And rested softly on the shrouded form 
And the pale face, which looked as if he 
dreamed 

Some pleasant dream, so calm and pure 
and fair 

Lay the young brow beneath the clustering 
hair. 

We laid him in the earth! 

Ah me, how hard it was to lay him there! 
How sad to gather round the household 

hearth. 
Where he was not! O brother, young and 

fair. 
Our hearts are sadly drooping o'er the 

grave 
From which our love was all too weak to 

save. 

He will return no more; 

But we have laid him there in hopeful 
trust 
That when a few more years are counted 
o'er. 
And we, like him, have slumbered in the 
dust, 
We all shall meet upon that happier shore, 
■^lience none departeth to return no more. 
Mrs. M. J. E. Ceawtosd. 



308 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



LILY AND WILLIE. 

[On the death of two children named Lily and 
Willie.) 

Oh, let them go to the Savior's arms! 

And let thy bosom confide 
In Him who calleth thy little ones 

Close to His sheltering side. 
He never inflicts a willing pain 

Within a sorrowing breast, 
But to our highest eternal gain 

His rod in wisdom is blest. 

Oh, let them go! When the angels came 

To bear sweet Lily above. 
They saw dear Willie and bore his name 

Up to the mansions aboi'e. 
Then Heaven was pleased and wished him 
there. 

Lest time his innocence sting; 
And lest the terrene his beauty mar, 

Sent back the angels for him. 

Oh, let them go! for the earth is dark. 

And dangers thickly impend, 
Where pleasures charm may the serpent 
lurk 

'Tis well life's evils are stemmed; 
For sin doth spread like a mighty flood 

O'er all our slumbering race. 
Thank God! there're gone to a safe abode, 

A sweet and heavenly place. 

Oh, let them go! for pity hath seen 

Some cruel tempest ahead. 
Some blast of woe, or bitter-most stream, 

To which their journey had led. 
God took them in compassion from time 

As lambs unspotted, ungrimed. 
Oh! couldst thou know his gracious design, 

Thy heart were fully resigned. 

Tes, let them go the better land! 

No grief can follow them there. 
We know, O Jesus, thy loving hand 

Took them to heavenly care. 
Their voice is hushed, and their gentle 
tread. 

No more their presence we see; 
Yet weep we not over them as dead, 

"WTno live more happy than we. 

Oh, let them go. though we miss them here! 

Dear Father, bestow thy grace! 
Our eyes, though dimmed by affection's 
tear, 

Would see thy comforting face; 
In all thy providence love confess. 

And seek to honor thee more. 
That we may follow and meet in bliss 
Our loved ones passing before 

Oh, let them go from the house of clay! 

Sweet uncaged spirits go home! 
Nor let thy thought yet in anguish stay 

Around their moldering tomb; 
Liift up thy faith from affliction's vail, 

And by her vision behold 
Thy darling ones over death prevail. 

In bright ethereal fold. 



Oh, let them go! In this mortal clime 

Wo can not ever remain; 
Life lingers not in the bonds of time, 

But seeks eternity's plane; 
And death is but a shadow between 

All pilgrims holy and pure 
And their sweet hope's enrapturous scene 

Beyond time's beautiful shore. 

Daniel 8. Wabneb. 



HEREAFTER. 

When all life's storms are still 

And all life's noises into calm have 



When rest and quiet come to us at last. 
What matters good or ill? 

What matters love or hate? 

Calm hands are folded o'er a quiet breast. 
The weary head is pillowed in sweet rest. 

And sorrow comes too late. 

What matters wealth or fame? 

The narrow grave is all that earth can 

give; 
The deathless soul in other worlds shall 
live. 
And men forget our name. 

What matters aught of earth? 

The pass;ng pictures of a shadowed 
dream. 

The changing eddies of a turbid stream, 
Sure, these are nothing worth. 

Why, then, despond, my friend? 

The one thou lovest has found at last 
Sweet peace and calm and rest when toil 
is past. 

And death is not the end. 



MOTHER IS RESTING. 

The long, rough road is ended. 
Her weary feet have pressed; 

How rough to her weak footsteps. 
Perhaps we never guessed; 

But — with the weary journey 
She'll be no more distressed: 

The face we bend to softly kiss. 

Bears no Imprint but of bliss. 

We know that many pages. 

Within the book of years 
She has pursued with anguish. 

Amid her falling tears; 
That partings, change, and doublings. 

Have caused her many fears: 
Forgotten now each pang of woe. 
No grief again her soul will know. 

We gaze at her dear features. 

Within the casket bound. 
And think that she is dwelling 

Wliere changeless peace is found; 
That there no painful partings 

Her loving heart will wound: 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



509' 



And, weeping for her, "loved and pone,' 
We gather strength to walk alone — 

Along the way before us, 

Whither we do not know; 
It may be strewn with blessings, 

And pleasures we may know; 
Or, thickly set with dangers. 

May bring us naught but woe. 
Yet o'er life's pathway she has come. 
At last unto her heavenly home! 



ON AN INFANT S DEATH. 

A littla life. 
Five summer months of gladness 

Without one cloud of sorrow, sin, or 
strife. 
Cut short by sudden gloom and wintry 
sadness. 

A little mound 
By buttress gray defended, 

Watered with tears and garlanded all 
round. 
By loving hands affectionately tended. 

A little cot. 
Empty, forlorn, forsaken. 

Silent remembrancer that he is not. 
Gone — past our voice to lull, or kiss to 
waken. 

A little frock 
He wore, a hat that shaded 

His Innocent brow, seen with a sudden 
shock 
Of grief for that dear form so quickly 
faded. 

A little flower. 
Because he touched it cherished. 

Fragile memorial of one happy hour 
Before the beauty of our blossom perished 

A little hair, 
Secured with trembling fingers, 

All that is left us of our infant fair, 
All we shall see of him while this life lin- 
gers. 

A little name. 
In parish records written, 

A passing sympathy to claim 
From other fathers for a father smitten 

But a great trust 
Irradiates our sorrow, 

That though today his name is writ in 
dust. 
We shall behold it writ in heaven tomor- 
row. 

And a great peace 
Our troubled soul possesses. 

That though to embrace him these poor 
arms must cease. 
Our lamb lies folded in the Lord's caresses. 



A little pain. 
To point his life's brief story. 

A few hours' mortal weariness, to gain 
Unutterable rest and endless glory. 

A little prayer. 
By lips divine once spoken, 

"Thy will be done!" is breathed into the 
air 
From hearts submissive, though with ac- 
cents broken. 

A little Khile. 
And time no more shall sever; 

But we shall see him with his own sweet 
smile. 
And clasp our darling in our arms forever! 



THE child's LAST SMILE. 

Why smiled the babe In its dying hour? 

It had not smiled in many weeks; 
It had faded away like a blighted flower. 

The pallor of death was upon its cheeks; 
Its eyes were glazing, and yet it smiled, 
And sweet was the look of the dying child. 

Why did it smile? It had suffered much. 
Weak was its frame, and its anguish 
strong; 
Did it smile a welcome to death's cold 
touch. 
Knowing its sorrow should cease ere- 
long? 
Nay! for that gentle child knew not 
That pain and death are the "common lot." 

But 'twas not death that the infant felt 
When the smile stole over its pale, sweet 
face. 
For an angel's hand the stroke had dealt; 
The babe was clasped in his bright em- 
brace. 
And the smile was the shadow of g-lory 

cast 
On the faded clay, as the spirit passed 

MBS. M. J. E. CHAWFOID. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green blrk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasped her to my bosom! 
The golden hours on angel wings 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 



310 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender; 
And pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder; 
But, oh, fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary! 

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kissed sae fondly! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly! 
And moldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

Robert Burns. 



BEREAVEMENT. 

When some Beloveds, 'neath whose eyelids 

lay 
The sweet lights of my childhood, one by 

ona 
Did leave me dark before the natural sun, 
And I astonished fell, and could not pray, 
A thought within me to myself did say: 
"Is God less God that thou art left un- 
done? 
Rise, worship, bless him. in this sackcloth 

spun, 
As in that purple!" But I answered: 

"Nay! 
What child his filial heart in words can 

loose. 
If he beheld his tender father raise 
The hand that chastens sorely? can he 

choose 
But sob in silence with an upward gaze? — 
And my great Father, thinking fit to 

bruise. 
Discerns in speechless tears, both prayer 

and praise." 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



ONE LINK GONE. 

Take the pillows from the cradle 
Where the little sufferer lay. 

Draw the curtain, close the shutters. 
Shut out every beam of day. 

Spread the pall upon the table. 
Place the lifeless body there, 

Back from off the marble features 
Lay the auburn curls with care. 

Witli its little blue-veined fingers 
Crossed upon its sinless breast. 

Free from care and pain and anguish. 
Let the infant cherub rest. 

Smooth its little shroud about it. 
Pick the toys from off the floor; 

They, with all their sparkling beauty. 
Ne'er can charm their owner more. 



Take the little shoes and stockings 
From the doting mother's sight; 

Pattering feet no more will need them. 
Walking in the fields of light. 

Parents, faint and worn with watching 
Through the long, dark night of grief. 

Dry your tears and soothe your sighing- 
Gain a respite of relief. 

Mother, care is no more needed 

To allay the rising moan. 
And though you perchance may leave it. 

It can never be alone. 

Angels bright will watch beside it 

In its quiet, holy slumber 
Till the morning, then awake it 

To a place among their number. 

Thus a golden link is broken 
In the chain of earthly bliss. 

Thus the distance shorter making 
'Twixt the brighter world and this. 



THE PAUPER S DEATH-BED. 

Tread softly, bow the head. 
In reverent silence bow; 

No passing bell doth toll, 

Tet an immortal soul 
Is passing now. 

Stranger, however great. 
With lowly reverence bow; 

There's one in that poor shed. 

One by that paltry bed, 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo! Death doth keep his state; 

Enter — no crowds attend; 

Enter — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 

That pavement, damp and cold. 

No smiling courtiers tread; 
One silent woman stands. 
Lifting with meager hands, 
A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound. 

An infant wail alone; 
A sob suppressed — again 
That short, deep gasp, and then 

The parting groan. 

Oh, change! Oh, wondrous change! 

Burst are the prison bars; 
This moment there, so low. 
So agonized, and now 

Beyond the stars! 

Oh, change — stupendous change! 

There lies the soulless clod! 
The sun eternal breaks. 
The new immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God! 

Carolinh Bowles Southet. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



311 



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

They grew in beauty, side by side, 
They filled one house with glee; 

Their graves are severed far and wide. 
By mount and stream and sea. 

The same fond mother bent at night 

O'er each fair sleeping brow; 
She had each folded flower in sight — 

Where are those dreamers now? 

One. midst the forest of the west, 

By a dark stream is laid; 
The Indian knows his place of rest. 

Far in the cedar shade. 

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one; 

He lies where pearls lie deep: 
He was the loved of all, yet none 

O'er his low bed may weep. 

One sleeps where southern vines are drest 

Above the noble slain; 
He wrapped his colors round his breast 

On a blood-red field of Spain. 

And one — o'er her the myrtle showers 
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned; 

She faded, midst Italian flowers, 
The last of that bright band. 

And parted thus they rest, who played 

Beneath the same green tree, 
A\Tiose voices mingled as they prayed 

Around one parent knee. 

They that with smiles lit up the hall 
And cheered with song the hearth — 

Alas, for love, if thou wert all, 
And naught beyond, O Earth! 

FBLICU Odrothba Hsmans. 



HIS LETTERS. 

[In memory of a dear young friend. ] 

Put them away; he'll write no more: 
They never write from that other shore; 
Never once from that land of bliss 
Have angels brought tidings down to this. 

Put them away; 'tis oh! too true 
He'll never come as he used to do. 
You need not sigh, nor need you weep; 
He's gone where souls no vigil keep. 

Put them away with tender care. 
For many words are written there — 
Tearful words and words of joy; 
Words from a lonesome, homesick boy. 

Put them away; they are dearer now 
Than when he walked tliis earth below; 
For when the stroke of death's cold hand 
Hurries the soul to the spirit-land. 
Doubly dear does each trinket grow; 
'Tis all we can hold to earth, you know. 



Put them away with gentle hand. 
Bind them carefully with silken band. 
Lay them where no bright light will shine. 
That you may some day read each line. 

And looking back o'er the length of years. 
You'll see perhaps through misty tears 
A bright young face with eyes of brown. 
And fancy you catch of his voice the sound. 

Put them away; 'tis joy to know 

He's safe from trials and sin and woe; 

Though your heart be sad and your eyes 

be dim. 
Remember your loss is gain to him. 

Gbobgu G. Eluott. 



OUR ABSENT DARLINGS. 

Those merry voices ringing clear! 

Seems as one. long, painful day 
Since childish notes of love and cheer 

Turned the winter months to May. 
We loved them — yes, perhaps too well; 

Thought He'd sent them here to stay, 
■Ulien suddenly the summons fell. 

And our darlings passed away. 

On yesterday, if we had known 

That the boatman lingered near. 
That opening buds would now be strewn 

Tenderly upon their bier; 
Had known the little sunburned hands 

Would today be strangely fair. 
That never more when night attends 

Would be clasped in simple prayer, — 

Perhaps the painful summons then 

Would have fallen less severe. 
Wliile weeping o'er what might have been 

A neglected smile or tear, 
Methinks we'd view with less regret 

Tlie prints of those small dimpled hands. 
The sweetest buds that olossomed yet 

^"ere rent by the autumn winds. 

Today the cradle empty stands. 

With its pillow smooth and white; 
No cherub voice within demands 

A song about angels bright; 
The toys are gathered one by one 

Away from our tear-dimmed sight; 
The dainty garments just begun 

Are folded away tonight. 

We sometimes fancy we can see. 

As their footprints we retrace. 
The smile as sweet as yesterday 

^\nien they slept in our embrace. 
It brings the bosom fresh relief 

To recall each absent face; 
No smothered weight of earth-born grief 

When they're in a better place. 

We little thought tomorrow's sun 
Would beam o'er their narrow bed. 

That for the garments then begun 
A shroud would be worn Instead; 



312 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Ah, no; we did not, could not, think 
That the last sweet prayer was said — 

And even then, on yonder brink, 
Could be heard the solemn tread 

Of messengers in royal state. 

Sent to bear them safely home — 
A place this side the jasper gate. 

But beyond the silent tomb. 
However, at the trump's last call. 

When the angel host shall come, 
Our absent darlings one and all 

TV^U receive a fadeless crown. 

jGNNia Mast. 



THEN AND NOW. 

I was so small they lifted me to see 

Her still, white face, lying mid folds of 

lace 
In that hard bed. 
They told me she was dead — 
The little friend whom I 
Had loved so much. 
I sliivered at the touch 

Of the pale hand; I could not understand, 
Not then. 

And when again, companionless, I strayed 
Through sunshine bright, and saw the yel- 
low light 
Like billows pass 
Across wild fields of grass 
Wliere we had played, 

I turned aside and covered up my face — 
Remembering that dark space — 
And wondered why God made her die 
And let me live. 

It rests me now — the memory I keep 

Of that hushed face; no bloom in life;; 

dark place 
Seems fair to me 
As death's white mystery. 
That slumbers deep. 

little playmate of life's margin years, 
(Alas! these tears), 

1 wonder why God let you die. 
And made me live! 

Mabv RI'Guirb. 



THE SEXTON. 

Nleh to a grave that was newly made 
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn 

spade; 
His work was done, and he paused to wait 
The funeral-train at the open gate. 
A relic of bygone days was he. 
And his locks were gray as the foamy sea 
And these words came from his lips so 

thin: 
"I gather them in — I gather them in— 
Gather — gather — I gather them in. 

"I gather them in; for man and boy, 
Tear after year of grief and joy, 



I've builded the houses that lie around 
In every nook of this burial-ground. 
Mother and daughter, father and son. 
Come to my solitude one by one; 
But come they stranger, or come they kin, 
I gather them in — I gather them in. 

"Many are with me, yet I'm alone; 

I'm king of the dead, and I make my 

throne 
On a monument slab of marble cold; 
My scepter of rule is the spade I hold. 
Come they from cottage, or come they from 

hall, 
Mankind are my subjects, all, all, all! 
May they loiter in pleasure, or toilfuUy 

spin, 
I gather them in — I gather them in. 

"i gather them in, and their final rest 

Is here, down here, in the eartli's dark 

breast." 
And the sexton ceased as the funeral-train 
Wound mutely over that solemn plain; 
And I said to myself: "^Vhen time is told, 
A mightier voice than that sexton's old 
Will be heard o'er the last trump's dread- 
ful din, 
'I gather them in — I gather them in — 
Gather — gather — gather them in.' " 

I'ABK Benjamin. 



LOVED TOO LATE. 

Year after year, with a glad content, 
In and out of our home he went — 

In and out. 
Ever for us the skies were clear; 
His heart carried the care and fear. 

The care and doubt. 

Our hands held with a careless hold 
All that he won of honor and gold 

In toil and pain. 
O dear hands that our burdens bore — 
Hands that shall toil for us no more. 

Never again! 

Oh! it was hard to learn our loss. 
Bearing daily the heavy cross — 

The cross he bore; 
To say, with an aching heart and head, 
"Would to God that the Love now dead 

Were here once more!" 

For when the Love we held too light 
Was gone away from our speech and sight. 

No bitter tears, 
No passionate words of fond regret, 
No yearning grief, could pay the debt 

Of thankless years. 

Oh! now while the sweet Love lingers near, 
Grudge not the tender words of cheer; 

Leave none unsaid: 
For the heart can have no sadder fate 
Than some day to awake — too late — 

And find Love dead! 

Mabt a. Basr. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



313 



BLESSED ARE THEY THAT 
MOURN." 

Oh, deem not they are blessed alone 
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep; 

The Power who pities man has shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night; 

And grief may bide an evening guest, 
But joy shall come with early light. 

And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier, 
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart. 
Though life its common gifts deny, — 

Though with a pierced and bleeding heart. 
And spurned of men, he goes to die 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day. 
And numbered every secret tear, 

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 

William Cullkn Bbtant. 



THE VALLEY OF REST. 

Away from the present of pain, 
Wlien our strength from the future we 
borrow. 

Unwearied by care for today 
And untroubled by thought of the morrow. 

Afar from the valley of tears, 
Apart from the sad realm of sorrow. 

Lies the beauteous valley of rest. 

Afar from this land of deceit. 
Where the true Is outweighed by the seem- 
ing: 
Away from this region of woe. 
Which with hunger and sickness is teem- 
ing; 
Beyond this fierce kingdom of war. 
Where from pierced hearts the life-blood 
is streaming, — 
Lies the calm of the valley of rest. 

The peace that is there is unknown 
To our hearts: ne'er has song nor has 
story 

Described it Its sun whose bright rays 
Never set is the light of His glory; 

And its bliss hath no end as the years 
Pass away and the ages grow hoary. 

In the wonderful valley of rest. 

What count the deep draughts that we 
all 
At the fountains of mourning have taken. 
What matters the valley of death 



Which we pass through alone and for- 
saken, 

When after a few passing hours 
The glorified soul shall awaken 

In the longed-for, glad valley of rest? 



A PLUCKED BUD. 

A perished bud, a broken leaf. 

In tiny casket lay. 
And aching hearts were wrung with grief 

As it was borne away. 
A little mound now marks the place 

Where sleeps the precious form; 
A stranger marred the lovely face 

And stilled the pulses warm. 

We heard his step, we stood aghast. 

His arm we could not stay; 
He snapped the stem that held It fast. 

And bore the flower away. 
The waxen petals one by one 

Ha kissed with icy breath, 
And held them closely for his own. 

And whispered, "This is Death." 

Anna K, TaouAS. 



A HYMN OF RESIGNATION. 

Oh, weep no more for the days that are 
fled. 
For the hours that return no more; 
Oh, mourn no more for the friends that 
are dead. 
For the loved ones who've gone before: 
For the days must flee as old Time rolls 
on. 
And the hours glide speedily by; 
With its dreams the friends of our youth 
have flown, 
And the dearest of earth must die. 

Oh, sigh no more for the lost wasted years. 
For the seasons that pass'd far too soon; 
Oil, grieve no more for the hopes drowned 
in tears. 
For the chances that missed wealth's 
boon: 
For our years are numbered, their seasons 
set. 
And the lessons of life we must learn; 
Though our hopes are blasted, they'll 
bloom out yet. 
And our fortunes at last will turn. 

So pine no more for the Joys that are killed, 
For the pleasures that fail now to charm; 
And dream no more of the love that is 
- chilled, 
Of the friendship no longer warm; 
For the joys of earth are fleet-footed and 
haste. 
And the pleasures that last only pale; 
If we love and friendship's rare sweetness 
taste, 
It is true we must drink their eall. 
T. Warsaw Williams. 



314 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



CONSOLATION. 

All are not taken! there are left behind 
Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring, 
And make the daylight still a happy thing; 
And tender voices to make soft the wind. 
But if it were not so — if I could find 
No love in all the world for comforting, 
Nor any path but hollowly did ring, 
Where "dust to dust" the love from life 

disjoined — 
And if before these sepulchers unmoving 
I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb 
Goes bleating up the moors in weary 

dearth ), 
Crying, "'Where are ye, O my loved and 

loving?" 
I know a Voice would sound, "Daughter, I 

AM. 
Can I suffice for heaven, and not for 

earth?" 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



THE DEATH. 

The loved of earth — how they pass away! 
Like the sunny smiles of a summer day. 
They pass from earth; we see them fall 
As a gem drops out from a coronal. 
As blossoms torn from a healthy stem; 
'Tis thus that we ever tliink of them. 
We look with tears on a vacant place. 
And sigh for the loss of a well-known face: 
We murmur the names we loved, in vain — 
They can not answer our call again. 

They have passed away to their quiet rest; 
Earth folded them in her silent breast. 
The chill winds liowl or warm rains weep. 
Alike unheeded above their sleep; 
And flowers may burst at the touch of 

spring. 
And green leaves rustle, and wild birds 

sing; 
But it matters not to the moldering dust 
The green earth holdeth in faithful trust. 

They pass, and their place must henceforth 

be 
Vacant, save in the memory 
Of those who loved them, — the faithful 

few,^ 
Whose hearts, to the dead, are fond and 

true; 
Whose love wanes not with the burdened 

breath. 
And sinking pulse that tells of death; 
That goes not out when the death-sealed 

eye 
Is shut from the light of the glorious sky. 
And the pleasant sounds they had loved 

to hear. 
Touch not the nerves of the senseless ear. 

The love of such hearts can not grow cold: 
Their memories never wax dim or old: 
They shrine the dead in a sacred urn; 
They know they can never to them return; 
But a holy trust to their love is given; 



Gems snatclied from earth are reset in 
heaven; 

Flowers which died here in their beauty's 
prime. 

Live there in endless summer-time; 

And the dear ones, shrined in the trust- 
ful heart, 

They shall meet again, and no more shall 
part. 

MBS. M. J. E. Crawford. 



THE SILENT VILLAGE. 

A little way from the busy town. 

Beyond the noise of men, 
Whence, through waving branches looking 
down. 

The burning crowd is seen, 
And where all the surge of life's unrest 

To whispered murmurs dies. 
On the peaceful hillside's quiet breast 

A silent village lies. 

The summer wind with the whispering 
leaves 
And waving grasses plays; 
And the wintry blast through shivering 
trees 
And lonely pathways raves; 
And the storm, with great gray wings of 
gloom, 
Unfelt, unheeded, comes, 
And it stirs no sign and wakes no sound 
Within these silent homes. 

The tuneful bird pours its Joyous note. 

And sings its glad, sweet lay: 
And the butterfly and hum-bee float 

Throu.gli all the summer day: 
And the faint, low sound of busy life 

Creeps on the evening air 
From the town, with restless billows rife, 

Eut still 'ti'i fcilent there. 

The blushing rose her sweet bloom unfold.s. 

The daisies gem the ground, 
And the buttercup's bright crown of gold 

Gleams o'er each grassy mound. 
And the fragrant store of clover sweets 

With violet perfume blends. 
But the loveliness no glad voice greets. 

Or the deep silence rends. 

The restless feet and the merry .shout 

Of childhood there are still: 
And tlie song of youth ne'er rinseth out 

From these still, quiet fields: 
And the busy hands on this life's stage, 

Crossed on the peaceful breast. 
And the tottering steps of hoary age. 

All there in silence rest. 

The marble slab and the turfy mound 
Point where they're peaceful laid. 

And the gleaming shaft and moss-grown 
stone 
Mark the same lowly bed; 

For the rich and poor, there side by side, 
In narrow mansions sleep. 



SORROW, BEREAVEMENT, DEATH. 



315 



And no dream of care or pomp or pride 
Breaks on their silence deep. 

A deep, dark spell, through all time which 
lasts, 

Of mystery unknown, 
From the King of Silence' shadow cast, 

Over the place is thrown: 
But a mightier power shall break the spell. 

And these still forms shall wake 
When the trumpet of God's resounding peal 

Shall on their silence break. 

Ehilt D. Thobpb. 



FOLDED HANDS. 

Folded 'neath tlie waving grasses on the 

starlit westward hill, 
Free from life and all its clamor, they are 

resting? white and still — ■ 
Little hands that knew no labor, wrinkled 

hands that knew no rest, 
Ere they drifted from the river to the 

haven of the blest. 

Dimpled hands, like waxen lilies, folded 

with a baby grace, 
Mid the blossoms that were scattered o'er 

the little form and face; 
And, mayhap, for some lone mourner who 

their gentle touch doth miss. 
They are beckoning in their beauty to the 

portals bright with bliss. 

Fair, white hands, like snowy daisies, folded 

o'er a youthful heart. 
Fairer far than sculptured marble or the 

fairest dream of art: 
Oft within the peopled pathway toiled they 

with a sladness gold. 
But their toiling all is over, and they rest 

in silence cold. 

Weary hands, like withered roses, folded 

o'er an aged breast. 
And the hands that long have labored have 

at last found perfect rest: 
Long they toiled with weary weaving while 

the storms around them raged, 
Till they wove the silv'ry colors woven only 

by the aged. 

As I look from out my casement when 

the stars are all bright. 
O'er the silent sleeping city W'ith its spires 

so tall and white, 
Think I of the hands long folded in a 

strange and mystic spell. 
And I would that some bright angel might 

to me their story tell. 

Did they weave their web of living with 

a gold and silver thread, 
Till a Christly light from heaven o'er the 

garment bright was shed? 
Or in hues of somber blackness did they 

sit in sin apart. 
■Weaving only from the fancy and the v.eal; 

ness of their heart. 



Tell me, O some white-winged angel, if 

the story thou dost know; 
But no answer breaks the silence o'er the 

weaving long ago. 
So I ponder half forgetting tliat full soon, 

all white and still 
Shall my hands like theirs be folded on 

the starlit westward hill. 



OUR MOTHER S GONE. 

Oh! what is home since Mother's gone? 

We hear the weeping children say. 
The lovely sun has scarcely shone 

Since our dear mother passed away; 
The hours that gaily sped along 

And brought new prospects of delight. 
Now linger with regretful song. 

And say, "Dear mother's gone tonight." 

If we had known when she was here 

(Though hard it is for us to say). 
We often could have wiped a tear 

From her dear furrowed cheek away. 
Responding with a loving smile 

To duty's long unheeded call. 
That mother dear might rest a while 

From all the burden of her toil. 

The leisure time we dearly prized, 

With pure unselfish love would be 
With needful labor harmonized, 

And given now most cheerfully. 
M'te could have thus removed in part 

The w'eight of care that oft oppressed; 
Wie see it since her burdened heart 

Has anchored in eternal rest. 

She labored on from morn till night — 

A noble aim she had in view — 
That we each one be taught aright, 

The path of love and truth pursue. 
The counsel that we failed to heed. 

The timely warnings kindly given, 
The value of each loving deed. 

She'll know when we are safe in heaven. 

When faulty and by pain distressed 

(The time stern Justice reprimands). 
Her tenderness all unsurpassed, 

Administered \^'ith loving hands. 
No trained nurse from any ward. 

Nor yet the wise physician's skill, 
Could half the sympathy afford. 

Nor soothe our fevered brow so well. 

We wondered then, but could not tell 

The value of those loving tears; 
Through fitful .slumbers guarding well. 

Mid beaming hopes and .shaded fears; 
The cautious word, the stern command, 

.Approving smile or troubled brow — 
Tile things we could not understand 

Are plainly comprehended now. 

But should we thus repine and grieve 
O'er blossoms fair, then unobserved? 

Enough is left of life to wreathe 
A lovely crown, though undeserved. 



316 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Some other mother toiling on 

Would prize a long-forgotten kiss. 

Unselfish deeds of kindness strewn 
Fill some unhappy heart with bliss. 

Then grasping firm the bruised rose, 

We'll leave behind the cruel thorn; 
Trust all the past with One who knows. 

The One who all our grief hath borne; 
And when we reach that summer land, 

WTiere broken hearts are bound again, 
'Tis there we'll know and understand 

The cause of every hidden pain. 

jENNia MA3T. 



A MOTHER TO HER DYING CHILD. 

Life has no weary years for thee. 
No rugged paths for thee to tread; 

For o'er the pillow lovingly 

An angel's snowy wings are spread — 

A blessed angel sent by Love 

To bear thee to his home above. 

Thy frame is wearied out with pains. 
And pale and wasted is thy cheek. 

Where not a hue of health remains; 
Thy eyes are dim, thy pulse is weak, 

And feebly comes the fluttering breath. 

Which tells tlie near approach of death. 

I weep, I can not else than weep. 
To see thee meekly suffering on; 

When love alone its watch must keep. 
The hope of health, of life, is gone. 

And mournfully I wait t!ie last 

Faint sigh, which tells me all is past. 

Aye, mournfully, although I know 
That death will bring relief to thee; 

That while thy mother's tears will flow. 
Thou wilt, rejoicing to be free, 

Unfold thy unseen wings, and rise 

With songs of gladness to the skies. 

And this has almost dried my tears, 
To know that He who loves thee best 

Has called thee in thy early years 
To perfect and eternal rest, 

And sent a messenger who waits 



To lead thee through the golden gates; 
And though my lonely heart will ache 
I will be glad for thy sweet sake. 

MES. M. J. E. CRAWfORD, 



FOLDED HANDS. 

Poor tired hands that toiled so hard for me! 

At rest before me now I see them lying; 
They toiled so hard, and yet we could not 
see 

That she was dying. 

Poor, rough, red hands that drudged the 
livelong day. 
Still busy when the midnight oil was 
burning. 
Oft toiling on until she saw the gray 
Of day returning! 

If I could sit and hold those tired hands. 
And feel the warm life-blood within them 
beating. 
And gaze with her across tlie twilight 
lands. 
Some whispered words repeating, — 

I think toniglit that I would love her so. 
And I could tell my love to lier so truly. 

That, e'en though tired, she would not wish 
to go, 
And leave me thus unduly. 

Poor, tired heart that had so weary grown. 
That death came all unheeded o'er it 
creeping! 

How still it is to sit here all alone, 
Wliile she is sleeping! 

Dear, patient lieart that deemed the heavy 
care 
Of drudging household toil its highest 
duty, 
That laid aside its precious yearnings there 
Along with beauty! 

Dear heart and hands, so pulseless, still, 
and cold! 
(How peacefully and dreamlessly slie's 
sleeping!) 
The spotless shroud of rest about them fold. 
And leave me weeping. 



PERSONS AND PLACES 



PERSONS AND PLACES. 



319 



PERSONS AND PLACES 



ABI^HAM LINCOLN. 

[This tribute appeared in London Punchy whicb. 
up to tbe time of the assassination of Mr. Lincoln, 
had ridiculed and maligned him with all Ua 
well-known powers of pen and pencil. ] 

Tou lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's 
bier — 
You, who with mocking pencil wont to 
trace. 
Broad for the self-complacent British sneer, 
His length of shambling limb, his fur- 
rowed face, 

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, 
bristling hair. 
His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease. 
His lack of all we prize as debonair. 
Of power or will to shine, of art to 
please; 

Tou, whose smart pen backed up the pen- 
cil's laugh. 
Judging each step as though the way 
were plain. 
Reckless, so it could point its paragraph 
Of chief's perplexity or people's pain: 

Beside this corpse, that bears for wind- 
ing-sheet 
The Stars and Strii>es lie lived to rear 
anew. 
Between the mourners at his head and feet. 
Say, scurril jester, is there room for you? 

Yes: he had lived to shame me from my 
sneer; 

To lame my pencil and confute my pen; 
To make me own this hind of princes peer. 

This rail-splitter a true-born king of men. 

My shallow judgment I had learned to rue. 

Noting how to occasion's height he rose: 

How his quaint wit made home-truth seem 

more true; 
How, iron-like, his temper grew by blows; 

How humble, yet how hopeful, he could be; 

How, in good fortune and in ill, the same; 
Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he. 

Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. 

He went about his work — such work as few 
Ever had laid on head and heart and 
hand — 
As one who knows, where there's a task 
to do, 
Man's honest will must Heaven's good 
grace command: 

"Wlio trusts the strength will with the bur- 
den grow. 
That God makes instruments to work 
his will, 
If but that will we can arrive to know, 
Nor tamper with the weights of good and 
ill. 



So he went forth to battle, on the side 
That he felt clear was Liberty's and 
Right's, 
.As in his peasant boyhood he had plied 
His warfare with rude Nature's thwarting 
mights. 

The uncleared forest; the unbroken soil; 
The iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's 
ax; 
The rapid, that o'erbears the boatman's 
toil; 
The prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's 
tracks; 

The ambushed Indian, and the prowling 
bear, — • 
Such were the deeds that helped his 
youth to train: 
Rough culture, but such trees large fruit 
may bear. 
If but their stocks be of right girth and 
grain. 

.So he grew up, a destined work to do. 
And lived to do it: four long suffering 
years. 
Ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through. 
And then he heard the hisses change to 
cheers. 

The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise. 
And took both with the same unwavering 
mood: 
Till, as he came on light, from darkling 
days. 
And seemed to touch the goal from where 
he stood, 

A felon hand, between the goal and him. 
Reached from behind his back, a trigger 
prest. 
And those perplexed and patient eyes were 
dim. 
Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were 
laid to rest! 

The words of mercy were upon his lips. 

Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen 
When this vile murderer brought swift 
eclipse 
To thoughts of peace on earth, good- 
will to men. 

The Old World and the New, from sea to 
sea. 
Utter one voice of sympathy and shame: 
Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat 
high; 
Sad life, cut short just as its triumph 
came! 

A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck 
before 
By the assassin's hand, whereof men 
doubt 



320 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



If more of horror or disgrace they bore; 
But thy foul crime, like Cain's, stands 
darkly out. 

Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife, 
Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly 
striven; 
And with the martyr's crown crownest a 
Ufa 
With much to praise, little to be for- 
given. 

Tom Taylob. 



THE BANKS DOON. 

Te banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care? 
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling 
bird. 

That wantons through the flowering 
thorn; 
Thou minds me o' departed joys. 

Departed — never to return! 

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 

And fondly sae I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver stole my rose. 

But, ah! ha left the tliorn wi' me. 

RrjBEBT BUKNS. 



HOMES OF THE CLIFF-DWELLERS. 

[These dwellings are the ruins of n long extlni't 
race. They were built on a narrow ledge only larse 
enough to hold them, hundreds of feet above the 
valley. The overhanging cliff served for a roof. Tra- 
ditions are few and of history there is nothing con- 
cerning this lost rare. Only their ruined houses 
remain, and some broken fragments of the imple- 
ments used in war and peace.] 

In the sad Southwest, in the mystical Sun- 
land, 
Far from the toil and the turmoil of gain: 
Hid in the heart of the only— the one land 
Beloved of the sun, and bereft of the rain: 
The one weird land where the wild winds 
blowing. 
Sweep with a wail o'er the plains of the 
dead, — 
A ruin, ancient beyond all knowing. 
Rears its head. 

On the canyon's side, in the ample hollow, 

That the keen winds carved in ages past. 
The Castle walls, like the nest of a swal- 
low. 

Have clung and have crumbled to this 
at last. 
The ages since man's foot has rested 

Within these walls, no man may know: 
For here the flerce gray eagle nested 

Long ago. 



Above those walls the crags lean over. 

Below, they dip to the river's bed; 
Between, fierce-winged creatures hover. 

Beyond, the plain's wild waste is spread 
No foot has climbed the pathway dizzy 

That crawls away from the blasted heath. 
Since last it felt the ever busy 

Foot of Death. 



The white, bright rays of the sunbeam 
sought it, 
The cold, clear light of tlie moon fell 
here. 
The west wind sighed; and the south wind 
brought it 
Songs of summer, year after year. 
Runes of summer, but mute and runeless. 

The Castle stood; no voice was heard. 
Save tlie liarsli, discordant, wild, and tune- 
less 
Cry of bird. 

The spring rains poured, and the torrent 
rifted 

A deeper way; the foam-flakes fell. 
Held for a moment poised and lifted. 

Down to a fiercer whirlpool's hell 
On the Castle tower no guard, in wonder. 

Paused in his marching to and fro; 
For on the turret the mighty thunder 

Found no foe. 

No voice of spring, no summer glories, 

May wake the warders from their sleep: 
Their graves are made by the sad Dolores, 

And the barren headlands of Hoven-weep. 
Their graves are nameless, their race for- 
gotten; 

Their deeds, their words, their fate, are 
one 
With the mist, long ages past begotten. 

Of the sun. 

Those castled cliffs they made their dwell- 
ing, 
They lived and loved, tliey fought and 
fell; 
No faint, far voice comes to us telling 
More than those crumbling walls can 
tell. 
They lived their life, their fate fulfilling, 
Then drew their last faint, faltering 
breath. 
Their hearts, congealed, clutched by the 
chilling 
Hand of Death. 

Dismantled towers, and turrets broken. 

Like grim and war-worn braves who keep 
A silent guard, with grief unspoken 

Watch o'er the graves by the Hoven- 
weep — 
The nameless graves of a race forgotten. 
Whose deeds, whose words, whose fate 
are ona 
With the mist, long ages past begotten, 
Of the sun. 

STANLEt Wood. 



PERSONS AND PLACES. 



321 



FAREWELL GREETING. 

(Written for the employees in the publishing office 
of The Gospel Trumpet, on the occasion of its re- 
moval, in Septemlier, 1906, from Moundsville, \V. 
Va., to Anderson. Ind.] 

The willing feet that hasten here and there. 
Will soon be treading paths as yet un- 
known; 
The patient hands that never tire here. 

In other parts will still be toiling on; 
For soon these templed hills you'll bid 
adieu, 
And there more seemly than the moun- 
tain range. 
Will stretch for miles before your won- 
dring view 
Those wid'ning fields and fertile, sandy 
plains. 

Forgetting not the loved ones left behind. 
Your lips will sometimes breathe a fer- 
vent prayer 
That God's own hand each weeping heart 
may bind 
Till all are gathered in that homeland 
fair. 
What seasons of refreshing you have 
known! 
And even when the sorest trials prest, 
Have you at any time been left alone, 
Or has he failed to grant the least re- 
quest? 

Of sorrow, too, each one has had a share: 
You leave some loved ones in the silent 
tomb; 
The parting for a time seemed hard to bear. 
And yet 'tis blessed to know they've 
gained a crown. 
Yes, only gone a little while before. 

To view the scenes in that immortal 
sphere: 
We sometimes linger near the mystic shore, 
And weep, and almost wish that we were 
there. 

The trials borne in hope and patient love, 
To yonder crown will add some beauty 
rare; 
The while some angel guardian up above. 
Will beckon to the mansions waiting 
there. 
The Master will not pass by unobserved 

One tear or loving deed, however small; 
When by his hand we see them all pre- 
served. 
We'll weep and say, "He knew and loved 
us all." 

Although the thorns have sometimes 
pierced your feet. 
His precious cross has not been hard to 
bear: 
And is the compensation not replete. 

When all can meet in holy concord there? 
No wonder that the king was heard to say, 
'How good and pleasant that we thus 
should dwell!' 
A sweet foretaste of that supernal day, 



When clothed anew His saving grace 
we'll tell. 

The atmosphere is laden with His love. 

And lends to fading earth a rich perfume; 
The falling leaves, the cooing of the dove, 
Remind us only that we're nearing home; 
But many hungry souls without the fold. 
Would claim at least a few years' toil 
and prayer; 
Each one w© shelter from the storm and 
cold 
Will only make our rest seem sweeter 
there. 

Methinks when you depart, the rippling 
stream 
Will murmur soft and low a parting 
strain; 
And softlj' will the mellow moonlight beam 
O'er paths your feet will never tread 
again; 
The while on yonder plain 'twill glisten 
bright 
And lend a benediction in its glow; 
Thus may His love throughout the dark- 
est night 
Enshrine each heart while toiling here 
below. 

These lovely grounds that seemed a sacred 
spot 
Will mourn the joyous notes of bygone 
days; 
But when these changing scenes are all 
forgot. 
We'll sound wtih angel tones our Maker's 
praise; 
Then meekly bid farewell to friend and foe. 
And hasten otherwhere at his command; 
No doubt 'tis God's own voice that bids 
you go. 
And he will bless the labor of your hand. 

JENNIH Mast. 



THE SHENANDOAH RIVER. 

Not more swiftly flies Time's shuttle 

Than thy shim'ring waters roll 
Through their secret channel subtle 

As deep thoughts flow through the soul; 
But sweet mem'ry vigil keeps 
Round tliee as she sadly weeps. 

Willows bend in fondness o'er thee, 

Zephyrs kiss thy dimpled wave, 
But fond hopes that rose before thee 
Find in thee a silent grave; 

But above them mem'ry weeps 
Sadly, as she vigil keeps. 

And the starlight falling purely 
From its high and azure dome 
On thy bosom rests as surely 
As on ocean's crested foam; 

But above thee mem'ry keeps 
Vigil while she sadly weeps. 



322 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



All! my heart like thick'ning shadows 

Droops above thy pebbly bed. 
While the night, which dewdrops gatherss. 
Sheds its darkness on my head; 
But the light of heaven keeps 
Vigil as fond mem'ry weeps. 

Oft I sit me down and ponder 

On the scenes and forms I knew 
When my feet beside thee wandered. 
Or loved friends I thought were true; 
But the tide of mem'ry sweeps 
Round them while she lonely weeps. 
Anna K. Thomas. 



PALESTINE. 

Blessed land of Judea! thrice hallowed of 

song. 
Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like 

throng; 
In the shade of thy palms, by the shores 

of thy sea, 
On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is 

with thee. 

With the eye of a spirit I look on that 

shore. 
Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered 

before; 
With the glide of a spirit I traverse the 

sod 
Made bright by the steps of the angels of 

God. 

Blue sea of the hills! — in my spirit I hear 
Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear; 
WHiere the Lowly and Just with the people 

sat down. 
And thy spray on the dust of his sandals 

was thrown. 

Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, 
And the desolate hills of the wild Gada- 

rene; 
And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor 

to see 
The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee! 

Hark, a sound in the valley! where, swollen 

and strong, 
Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along; 
■UHiere the Canaanite strove with Jehovah 

in vain. 
And thy torrent grew dark with the blood 

of the slain. 

There down from his mountains stern Zebu- 
Ion came, 

And Naphtali's stag, with his eyeballs of 
flame, 

And the chariots of Jabin rolled harm- 
lessly on, 

For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's 
son! 

There sleep the still rocks and the caverns 
which rang 



To the song which the beautiful prophetess 
san;;. 

When the princes of Issachar stood by her 
side. 

And the shout of a host in its triumph re- 
plied. 

Lo, Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, 

With the mountains around, and the val- 
leys between; 

There rested the shepherds of Judali, and 
there 

The song of the angels rose sweet on the 
air. 

And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still 

tlirow 
Tlieir shadows at noon on the ruins below; 
But where are the sisters who hastened to 

greet 
The lowly Redeemer, and sit at his feet? 

I tread where the Twelve in their way- 
faring trod; 

I stand where they stood with the Chosen 
of God, 

Where his blessing was heard and his 
lessons were taught. 

Where the blind were restored and the 
healing was wrought. 

Oh, here with his flock the sad Wanderer 
came; 

Tliese hills he toiled over in grief are the 
same; 

The founts where he drank by the way- 
side still flow; 

And the same airs are blowing which 
breathed on his brow! 

And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem 

yet. 
But with dust on her forehead, and chains 

on her feet: 
For the crown of her pride to the mocker 

hath gone. 
And the holy .Shechinah is dark where it 

shone. 

But wherefore this dream of the earthly 
abod» 

Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of 
God? 

Were my spirit but turned from the out- 
ward and dim, 

It could gaze, even now, on the presencp 
of Him! 

Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle 

as when. 
In love and in meekness, he moved among 

men; 
And the voice which breathed peace to the 

waves of the sea 
In the hush of my spirit would whisper 

to me. 

And what if my feet may not tread where 

he stood, 
Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's 

flood. 



PERSONS AND PLACES. 



35J3 



Nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed 

him to bear, 
Nor my Icnees press Gethseraane's garden 

ol prayer? 

Tet, Loved of the Father, thy Spirit is 

near. 
To the meelc and the lowly and penitent 

here, 
And the voici: of thy love is the same even 

now 
As at Bethany's tomb or on Olivet's brow. 

Oh, the outward hath gone! but in glory 

and power 
The Spirit surviveth the things of an hour; 
■Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame 
On the heart's secret altar is burning the 

same! 

John Gbe£NL£af Whittier. 



DENVER. 

Away to the west the amber clouds 

Burn red in a crimson glow. 
And the fitful flash of the sun shines 
through 

WTiere the purple clouds hang low. 

The mountains rise to the reddened sky, 

Like sentinels grand and old; 
And their snowy crests are crimson stee;ied 

And bathed in the molten gold. 

Afar to the south, a hoary head 

Stands out from the dusky plains — 

A mountain grown old in his faithful guard. 
Through thousands of snows and rains. 

Pike's Peak — and the heart of the traveler 
thrills, 
As he catches a glimpse of snow; 

For it glimmers afar on the sacred mount- 
In the light of the sunset's glow. 

And yonder there rises a city of light. 
Like a bird from her lonely nest. 

With the fire of life in her throbbing 
veins — ■ 
Queen city of all the West! 

Like a rose that blossoms beneath the sun, 
She has sprung from the desert wild. 

And she sits like a queen on her prairie 
throne. 
With the face of a wind-kissed child. 

Her eyes are turned towards the Golden 
Gate, 
Where the ships from the Orient Iiail, 
And the swift-winged barks of the Golden 
State 
To the lands of the sunset sail. 

Her throne is built at the mountain's feet 
With their treasures of precious ore. 

And her name on the golden sands of time 
Will be written forevermore. 

FANNIH IS.tBELLH SHERRICK. 



A LETTER IN RHYME. 

[The following letter written while the author was 
visiting hei' home in Ulilahoma, was addressed to her 
cowoikers in the publLsUing olBce of The Qospel 
Trumpet, Anderson, lud. ] 

Since I left the Trumpet office, 

I have often thought of you. 
Often thought perhaps I'd better 
Write you editors a letter — 

Which I've planned to do. 

So this morn while I am roaming 

Very near to Nature's heart. 
With the woodlands me surrounding 
And such shady nooks abounding, 

Here I make a start. 

If this letter grows quite lengthy 
Ere at last its close you see. 

Will you patiently pursue it 

Till at last you're really through it?— 
Tliink it's just like me. 

Tliat which I am now enjoying, 

All I shall not try to tell; 
'Possum-hunting, buggy-riding, 
In a boat o'er waters gliding, 

Serve their purpose well. 

Oh, how warm has been the weather! 

Breezes like an oven blow, 
Turnint,' waving corn-fields yellow. 
Summer apples now are mellow — 

Nice to eat, you know. 

Peaches, too, taste so delicious 

And I very often wish. 
As I pluck them from the branches 
On these Oklalioma ranches. 

That you had a dish. 

Harvest season now is over; 

Threshers, too, have had their day; 
Papa's grain in bushels numbered 
More than twenty times one hundred 

When 'twas liauled away. 

On the wide and rolling prairie. 

Stretching westward toward the sea, 

There are herds of cattle grazing; 

WHien upon this scene I'm gazing. 
It is fair to me. 

Oh. my Southern, Western home land 

Ne'er enticed me so before! 
And the thoughts of my soon leaving 
With my loved ones for me grieving 

Make my heart feel sore. 

But the God whom I am serving 

With my heart and soul and strength, 
^Hien the time comes for my starting 
Grace for the sad hours of parting 
Will supply at length. 

Then I shall, with courage, bravely 
Enter in your ranks once more, 

Thankful for my short vacation. 

For this pleasant recreation 
Which shall then be o'er. 



324 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Now, lest you should grow quite weary 
Of these lines I've tried to pen, 

I shall close my friendly letter. 

Promising to do much better 
Should I write again. 

ELSm E, EOEBMEIEB. 



THE PEOPLE S POET. 

Hail, Whittier, crowned by worth and years, 
Still peerless standing mid thy peers. 
Blessed by a nation's praise and prayers! 

■We send thee greeting, poet-king. 
Singing for us the songs we'd sing 
If but our thoughts had tune and wing. 

O people's poet, with surprise 
We read the soul that underlies 
Thy tender strains and melodies. 

W^ read thy heart: thy heart is sweet; 
It shares our victory, our defeat; 
It throbs beside ours, beat for beat. 

We make return; not coins of gold. 
Not rapturous rhymes, or praises bold, 
Eut love for love— our hearts you hold. 

Look in and find thyself no guest. 
But dearest friend within each breast; 
We sit beside thee and art blest. 

Sing on, O friend; thy songs of peace 
Prop on our pain and bring surcease. 
Drop on our chains and bring release. 

Sing on, and let thy locks grow white. 
Thy soul bloom upward in our sight; 
Forever sing, as is thy right. 

Sdsio B. G. Clark. 



THE GARDEN OF THE GODS. 

Beneath the rocky peak that hides 

In clouds its snow-flecked crest, 
W^thin these crimson crags abides 

An Orient in the W'est. 
These tints of flame, these myriad dyes. 

This Eastern desert calm, 
Should catch the gleam of Syrian skies. 

Or shade of Egypt's palm. 

As if to bar the dawn's first light 

These ruby gates are hung; 
As if from Sinai's frowning height 

These riven tablets flung. 
But not the Orient's drowsy gaze. 

Young Empire's opening lids 
Greet these strange shapes, of earlier days 

Than Sphinx or Pyramids. 

Here the New West its wealth unlocks. 

And tears the veil aside, 
WTiich hides the mystic glades and rocks 

The Red man deified. 



This greensward, girt with tongues of flame. 

With spectral pillars strewn, 
Not strangely did the savage name 

A haunt of gods unknown. 

Hard by the gentle Manitou 
His healing fountains poured; 

Blood-red, against the cloudless blue, 
These storm-tossed Titans soared. 

WTth torrents wild and tempest blast, 

And fierce volcanic fires, 
In secret molds has Nature cast 

Her monoliths and spires. 

Their shadows linger where we tread, 

Their beauty fills the place; 
A broken shrine — its votaries fled — 

A spurned and vanished race. 
Untouched by Time the garden gleams, 

Unplucked the wild flower shines, 
And the scarred summit's rifted seams 

Are bright with glistening pines. 

And still the guileless heart that waits 

At Nature's feet may find. 
Within the rosy, sunlit gates, 

A hidden glory shrined; 
His presence feel to whom, in fear. 

Untaught, the savage prayed. 
And, listening in the garden, hear 

His voice, nor be afraid. 

William Allen Biitlbb. 



THE ROYAL GORGE. 

[The Royal Gorge, 16G miles from Denver, forms 
the narrow mouth of the Grand Can.von of the Arkan- 
sas. The walls range from 1.000 to nearly 3.000 
feet in height. At the famous Hanging Bridge, 
the width is but thirty feet, the depth is half a 
mile.] 

In the Royal Gorge I stand. 

With its mountain-forms around me, 

W^ith infinity behind me and infinity before; 
Clift and chasm on every hand. 

Peaks and pinnacles surround me; 

At my feet the river rushes with its 
never-ceasing roar. 



Oh! the power that piled these wonders. 
As the mountains took tlieir stations. 
As a great red belt rose upward in a glit- 
tering zone of fire. 
Oh! the crash of blended thunders 
Shaking earth to its foundations. 

As each struggling clift rose upward, 
climbing higher, ever higher. 

Oh! the crashing and the groaning 

And the deep and awful shudder 

As that great red belt was parted and the 

mountains crashed in twain; 

And the Arkansas came roaring. 

Raging with its dreadful thunder. 

Sweeping through the mighty chasm 
dashing madly toward the main. 



PERSONS AND PLACES. 



325 



Oh! this myriad crested canyon, 

With its walls of massive marble, 
With the granite and red sandstone piled 
in peaks that pierce the sky; 
Where no bird dare dip its pinion 
In the narrow veil of azure, 

Where the solemn shadows linger o'er 
the river rolling by. 

Mortal! ere you enter here. 

Pause and bare thy brow before Him; 
You are entering a temple which the 
Mighty One did rear. 
Put thy shoes from off thy feet, 
And with sacred awe adore Him; 

Throned in awful might and majesty, the 
Great One dwelleth here. 

. G. G. Fkeodson. 



AN HOUR WITH WHITTIER. 

Poet beloved, again I come 

On thy sweet verse to ponder. 

And linger o'er thy soulful words. 
The while my heart grows fonder. 

"Among the Hills" I walk with thee, 

Reading the dear home story 
When autumn comes with goldenrod 

"Heavy with Sunshine" glory. 
Within the "Tent Upon the Beach" 

I sit with joy to listen 
To lords of thought, while peaceful waves 

In molten gold light glisten. 
I see the "Schoolhouse by the Road," 

The eager children leaving, 
The little girl who "spelt the word," 

The tender face of grieving. 

The "Hazel Blossoms" gleam with gold. 

In fresher beauty glowing, 
Touched by the poet's loving hand. 

Woven in verses flowing. 
The "Last Walk in the Autumn" days, 

After the regal splendor, 
Reveals a charm his eye discerns, 

A lingering grace and tender. 

When "Snow Bound" by the wintry storm 

The tale of farm-life olden 
I read, and find the day has flown 

Winged as with sunbeams golden. 
The "Pageant" rings its silver bells 

With light of crystal morning; 
The "tree-bolls chandeliers of frost," 

Hold up with sunrise dawning; 
"A glimpse of glory infinite" 

Comes to my raptured vision, 
The "white bride coming down from 
heaven" 

Clothed with a grace elyslan. 

"My Psalm" is like a soft, dear voice 
Soothing to peaceful slumbers; 

I listen, while my heart anew 

Life's full rich blessings numbers. 

"My Psalm" — it is like finest gold 
Among my garnered treasure; 



With chords attuned, my soul responds 
Unto the pure-toned measure — 

The hearts sweet scripture to be read 
At night, when love grows fonder; 

An added verse to heavenly word. 
With hallowed thought I ponder. 

"Eternal Goodness" like a chime 

Of silver bells is ringing; 
The loving kindness of the Lord 

Seems nearer for thy singing. 
I read with answering heart and mind 

To see In bright "Clear Vision" 
New beauty in familiar things 

Glowing with light elysian; 
"My Triumph" with its stirring words 

Of "richer life where Beauty" 
Is touched with finer grace and walks 

Still "hand in hand with Duty." 

No place so dark but thy glad songs 

Can make the dull day brighter. 
No heavy burden but thy words 

Can make the load seem lighter. 
Like woodthrush sweet whose liquid notes 

"Set the wild echoes " ringing. 
So "echoes roll from soul to soul" 

With music of thy singing. 
i;nthroned in hearts, thy crown is set 

With jewels brightly glowing — 
The love of myriad lives made sweet. 

The pure rich luster showing. 

Phbbb a. Holder. 



THE POET AND THE CHILDREN. 

(On Longfellow's birthday.] 

With the glory of winter sunshine 

Over his locks of gray. 
In the old historic mansion 

He sat on his last birthday; 

With his books and his pleasant pictures. 
And his household and his kin. 

While a sound as of myriads singing 
From far and near stole in. 

It came from his own fair city. 
From the prairie's boundless plain, 

From the Golden Gate of sunset. 
And the cedarn woods of Maine. 

And his heart grew warm within him. 
And his moistening eyes grew dim; 

For he knew that his country's children 
Were singing the songs of him — 

The lays of his life's glad morning. 
The psalms of his evening time. 

Whose echoes shall float forever 
On the winds of every clime. 

All their beautiful consolations. 
Sent forth like birds of cheer. 

Came flocking back to his windows. 
And sang in the poet's ear. 

Grateful, but solemn and tender. 
The music rose and fell. 



32C 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



With a joy akin to sadness 
And a greeting like farewell. 

With a sense of awe he listened 
To the voices sweet and young; 

The last of earth and the first of heaven 
Seemed in the songs they sung. 

And waiting a little longer 

For the wonderful change to come, 

He heard the summoning angel. 
Who calls God's children home. 

And to him in a holier welcome 
Was the mystical meaning given 

Of the words of the blessed Master, 
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven!" 

John Geeenleap Whittieb. 



A SEEING HEART. 

(Tn Fanny Crosljy. ] 

Sweet blind singer over the sea, 
Tuneful and jubilant: how can it be. 
That the songs of gladness, which float so 

far, 
As if they fell from the evening star, 
Are the notes of one who never may see 
"Visible music" of flower and tree. 
Purple of mountain, or glitter of snow. 
Ruby and gold of the sunset glow. 
And never the light of a loving face? 
Must not the world be a desolate place 
For eyes that are sealed with the seal of 

years. 
Eyes that are open only for tears? 
How can she sing in the dark like this? 
What is her fountain of light and bliss? 

Oh, her heart can see, her heart can see! 
And its sight is strong and swift and free. 
Never the ken of mortal eye 
Could pierce so deep and far and high 
As the eagle vision of hearts that dwell 
In the lofty, sunlit citadel 
Of Faith that overcomes the world, 
With banners of Hope and Joy unfurled, 
Grirrisoned with God's perfect Peace, 
Ringing with pagans that never cease. 
Flooded with splendor bright and broad, 
The glorious light of the love of God. 

Her heart can see, her heart can see! 
Well may she sing so joyously! 
For the King himself, in his tender gra."?. 
Hath shown her the brightness of bis face; 
And who shall pine for a glow-worm lisht. 
When the Sun goes forth in his radiant 

might? 
She can read his law as a shining chart, 
For his finger hath written it on her heart; 
She can read his love, for on all her wa.v 
His hand is writing it every day. 
"Bright cloud" indeed must that darkness 

be. 
Where "Jesus only" the heart can see. 

Her heart can see! her heart can see. 
Beyond the glooms and the mystery. 



Glimpses of glory, not far away, 
Nearing and brightening day by day, 
Golden crystal and emerald bow. 
Luster of pearl and sapphire glow, 
Sparkling river and healing tree. 
Evergreen palms of victory. 
Harp and crown and raiment white. 
Holy and beautiful dwellers in light, 
A throne, and One thereon, whose face 
Is the glory of that glorious place. 

Dear blind sister over the sea! 

An English heart goes forth to thee. 

We are linked by a cable of faith and song. 

Flashing bright sympathy swift along; 

One in the East and one in the West, 

Singing for him whom our souls love best, 

"Singing for Jesus," telling his love 

All the way to our home above. 

Where the severing sea, with its restless 

tide. 
Never shall hinder and never divide- 
Sister, what will our meeting be. 
Where our hearts shall sing, and our eyes 

shall see? 

Frances Ridley Hateroal. 



GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 

[Brooklyn, N. Y.) 
Here are the houses of the dead. Here 

youth 
And age and manhood, stricken in his 

strength. 
Hold solemn state and awful silence keep. 
While Earth goes murmuring in her an- 
cient path. 
And troubled Ocean tosses to and fro 
Upon his mountainous bed impatiently. 
And many stars make worship musical 
In the dim-aisled abyss, and over all 
The Lord of life in meditation sits 
Changeless, alone, beneath the large white 

dome 
Of Immortality. 

I pause and think 
Among these walks lined by the frequent 

tombs; 
For it is very wonderful. Afar 
The populous city lifts its tall, bright 

spires. 
And snowy sails are glancing on the bay. 
As if in merriment, but here all sleep; 
They sleep, these calm, pale people of 

the past. 
Spring plants her rosy feet on their dim 

homes, — 
They sleep! Sweet Summer comes and 

calls, and calls 
With all her passionate poetry of flowers 
Wed to the music of the soft south wind, — 
They sleep! The lonely Autumn sits and 

sobs 
Between the cold white tombs, as if her 

heart 
Would break — they sleep! Wild Winter 

comes and chants 
Majestical the mournful sagas learned 
Far in the melancholy North where God 



PERSONS AND PLACES. 



:>27 



Walks forth alone upon the desolate seas, — 
They slumber still! 

Sleep on, O passionless dead! 
Te make our world sublime: ye have a 

power 
And majesty the living never hold. 
Here Avarice shall forget his den of gold, 
Here Lust his beautiful victim, and hot 

Hate 
His crouching foe. Ambition here shall 

lean 
Against Death's shaft, veiling the stern. 

bright eye 
That, overbold, would take the lieight of 

gods. 
And know Fame's nothingness. The sire 

shall come, 
"Ehe matron and the child, through many 

years. 
To this fair spot, whether the plumed 

hearse 
Moves slowly through the winding walks, 

or Death 
For a brief moment pauses: all shall come 
To feel the touching eloquence of graves. 
And therefore it was well for us to clothe 



The place with beauty. No dark terror here 
Shall chill the generous tropic of the soul. 
But Poetry and her starred comrade Art 
Shall make the sacred country of the dead 
Magnificent. The fragrant flowers shall 

smile 
Over the low, green graves; the trees shall 

shake 
Their soul-like cadences upon tlie tombs; 
The little lake set in a paradise 
Of wood, shall be a mirror to the moon 
What time she looks from her imperial 

tent 
In long delight at all below; the sea 
Shall lift some stately dirge he loves to 

breath e 
Over dead nations, while calm sculptures 

stand 
On every hill, and look like spirits there 
That drink the harmony. Oh, it is well! 
Why should a darkness scowl on any spot 
Where man grasps immortality? Light, 

light. 
And art, and poetry, and eloquence. 
And all that we call glorious are in its 

•Jo^"^""- William Wallace. 



POEMS OF RELIGION 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



331 



POEMS OF RELIGION 



SIN S SLAVERY. 

A bitter cup each life must drain; 
Tlie groaning earth is cursed with pain. 
And, lilte the scroll the angel bore 
The shuddering Hebrew seer before, 
O'erwrit alilce without, within. 
With all the woes whicli follow sin; 
But bitterest of the ills beneath 
Whose load man totters down to death, 
Is that which plucks the regal crown 
Of freedom from his forehead down. 
And snatches from his powerless hand 
The sceptered sign of self-command, 
Effacing with the chain and rod 
The image and the seal of God; 
Till from his nature, day by day. 
The manly virtues fall away. 
And leave him naked, blind, and mute, 
The godlike merging in the brute! 

John Grkenleap Whittieb. 



life's fleeting day. 

What is our life? It is even a vapor; 

Now it appeareth, then hasteth away; 
Dies as the sunbeams, all bright in the 
morning, 
Are dimmed by the shades at the close of 
the day. 

All of our years, when with care they are 
numbered, 
Mark but a speck on the great sea ot 
time; 
Spent like tlie telling of some ancient 
story. 
They vanish away as the sound of its 
rhyme. 

Backward we leaf through the year's yel- 
low pages, 
Gaze on the harvester gathering h i s 
sheaves. 
Feel for a moment the sweet breath of 
summer. 
Hear then the rustle of dead autumn 
leaves. 

Winter has come and the summer is ended; 

Those golden moments shall never return. 

What do we hold in our hands for our 

reaping — 

Sheaves for the Master or tares but to 

burn? 

What have we done for the sick and the 
dying? 
Have we been cheering the faint and the 
weak? 
Out of the byways of sin's desolations. 
Have we endeavored the lost ones to 
seek? 

Have we been spending each moment for 
Jesus. 



Praying and toiling tlie lost ones to win? 
Or will there be sheaves that will perish 
forever, 
Waiting for some one to gather them in? 

Tes, they are gone — those moments — for- 
ever; 
Numbered are they with the deeds of the 
past: 
We can but hope to be true in the future, 
Some of the time to redeem at the last. 

While there's a moment remains for the 
gleaning, 
Oh! let us gather the few we may find, 
Scattered where otliers have missed them 
in toiling. 
Lest some poor waiting one be left be- 
hind. 

Soon will life's harvest forever be ended; 
Soon shall tlie blossoms of summer de- 
cay; 
Soon shall their sweet-scented odors have 
perished. 
Borne by the cool winds of autumn away. 

Would you bring joy to the cheerless and 
saddened? 
Would you be strength to the faint ere 
too late? 
Would you give bread to the hungry and 
dying? 
Now is the time, precious soul; do not 
wait. 

And should the .shadows that fall now 
around us 
Flee in the morn at the first brilliant ray. 
There will be plenty to do on the mor- 
row. 
Labor sufficient for each coming day. 

Trusting in God, let us rush to the rescue; 
Forward with might in the name of our 
King! 
Satan shall flee at the tramp of our foot- 
steps. 
And the glad song of the victors we'll 
sing. 

Then ere another December shall greet us, 
Chilling our frame with its cold, icy 
breath, 
May we have each done our best for the 
Master — • 
Each one have saved some poor lost one 
from death. 

Now to the Old Year, whose death-knell 
is tolling. 
Fondly we bid a long, last adieu, 
Waiting with joy the approach of the 
morning, 
■mien o'er the threshold we tread of the 
New. 



S32 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Onward the current of time still is rolling; 

Tirelessly, noiselessly, surely it flows: 
Swifter than eagles can fly through the 
ether, 

Man to his home in eternity goes. 

Soon shall the flow of its tide cease for- 
ever. 
Fall soon the sound of its knell on our 
ears; 
Soon shall the gleams of life's radiant 
morning 
Burst on our sight for eternity's years. 
Claea M. Bbooks. 



WHO ARE WISE? 

Is it they Who soar in air, 

Soar in thought beyond the blue. 
Up to heaven's plains so fair. 

And celestial glory view; 
They who soar above, below, 

To the bounds of everywhere. 
Downward to the world of woe 

And its depti.s of dark despair; 
They who through the mists of time, 

Dimly see eternity. 
Who contrast the lofty rhyme 

Thrilling in its majesty. 
With its music-laden flow 

Beautifying mystic themes 
Of the wonders forests know, 

And the racing, shining streams. 
Of the roaring of the wave 

As it leaps upon the strand. 
As it doth the ledges lave. 

As it raises hills of sand? 
Is it they who are the wise— 

They to whom is wisdom given? 
Ask the Ruler of the skies. 

Ask the mighty King of heaven. 
Hark! A deep-toned voice replies, 
"They who fear the Lord are wise!" 

B. C. HOTT. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Dear day of days! the best of all In earth's 
Long roll of years! In thee we celebrate 
The birth and advent here, to us. of liim, 
The Lord and Universal King, who came 
From heaven, his blessed abode, to rescue 

man^ 
Poor fallen man! — from sin and shame ami 

loss. 
Which his own deeds had wrought for him 
Our ardent souls recall those openint- 

scenes : 
Again with joy we hear the angels cry, 
"Glory to God! and on the earth be peacp," 
"Good will to men"; or with the shepherdH 

sent 
Once more we haste to Bethlehem and .«ee 
The open stall the lowly manger where 
The new-born Prince of peace and love is 

laid. 
Sweet day of days! Blessed harbinger to us 



Of joys eternal and those lovely scenes 
Where we expect companionship with those 
We've loved and lost within this weary life. 
Dearly we hail thee, and rejoice in these. 
Thy happy hours, with all who love and 
hope! 

Samuel Finlbx. 



WHEN? 

If I were told that I must die tomorrow. 

That the next sun 
Which sinks should bear me past all fear 
and sorrow 

For any one. 
All the fight fought, all the short journey 
through. 

What should I do? 

1 do not think that I should shrink or fal- 
ter. 

But just go on 
Doing ray work, nor change, nor seek to 
alter 

Aught that is gone. 
But rise and move and love and smile and 
pray 

For one more day. 

And, lying down at night for a last sleep- 
ing. 

Say in that ear 
^^^lich barkens ever: "Lord, within thy 
keeping 

How should J fear? 
And when tomorrow brings thee nearer 
still. 

Do thou thy will." 

I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, 
tender. 

My soul would lie 
All the night long, and when the morning 
splendor 

Flushed o'er the sky, 
I think that I could smile, could calmly 
say, 

"It is his day." 

But if a wondrous hand, from the blue 
yonder. 

Held out a scroll 
On which my life was writ, and I with 
wonder 

Behold unroll 
To a long century's end its mystic clew, 
Wha.t should I do? 

UHiat could I do, O blessed Guide and Mas- 
ter, 

Other than this? 
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster. 

Nor fear to miss 
The road, although so very long it be, 

Vniile led by thee. 

Step after step, feeling thee close beside 
me. 

Although unseen. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



333 



Through thorns, through flowers, whether 
the tempest hide thee 

Or heavens serene, 
Assured thy faithfulness can not betray, 

Thy love decay. 

I may not know, my God; no hand revealeth 

Thy counsels wise; 
Along the path a deepening shadow steal- 
eth; 

Xo voice replies 
To all my questioning thought, the time 
to tell — 

And it is well. 

Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing 

Thy will always. 
Through a long century's fruition 

Or a short day's. 
Thou canst not come too soon, and I can 
wait. 

If thou come late. 

SU3AS COOLIDOE. 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 

How soon the year has passed away! 

How soon its race was run! 
And of the work I planned to do, 

How little has been done! 
I vowed to more of kindness show 

To those who were in need; 
To help the fallen, save the lost, 

And sow the precious seed; 

To soothe the sorrow, drj- the tear, 

And others" burdens bear; 
To he more Christlike every day. 

And in his work to share; 
To live more pure in mind and thought. 

And evil habits shun; 
To be more careful of my words. 

And kind to every one. 

But as I look back o'er the past 

And view the things I've done. 
The very work I planned to do 

Has only been begun. 
On every side were open doors 

I might have entered in: 
On every hand were sinful hearts 

I had the power to win; 

On every side were saddened hearts 
And heads bowed down with woe, 

■Where dearest Joys had fled away — 
To these I did not go; 

And when some hard and crushing blow 
The trusting heart had broken, 

A kindly word would heal the wound- 
That word was never spoken. 

Shall I go on through all the years 

And all these duties shirk? 
Shall I presume upon His love 

And fail to do His work? 
Can T expect to wear a crown 

And join the blood-washed throng? 



Shall I, with saints and angels, join 
To sing redemption's song? 

No; I must bravely take my cross 

And do His work in love, 
Assured if I will do my part, 

I'll share his joy above. 
Lord, give to me thy grace divine, 

That through each coming day. 
My feet may ever keep the path 

That leads the upward way. 



BEARING LIFES BURDENS. 

oh, there are moments for us here, when, 
seeing 
Life's inequalities and woe and care, 
rhe burdens laid upon our mortal being 
Seem heavier than the human heart can 
bear; 

For there are ills that come without fore- 
boding, 
Lightnings that fall before the thunders 
roll. 
And there are festering cares that, by cor- 
roding. 
Eat silently their way into the soul. 

And for the evils that our race inherit. 
What strength is given us that we may 
endure? 
Surely the God and Father of our spirit 
Sends not afiiictions which he can not 
cure! 

No! there is a Pliysician, there is healing. 
And light that beams upon life's darkest 
day. 
To him whose heart is right with God, re- 
vealing 
The wisdom and the justice of His way. 

Not him who never lifts his thought to 
lieaven. 
Remembering whence his blessings have 
been sent; 
Not yet to him are strength and wisdom 
given. 
WTiose days with profitless scourge and 
fast are spent: 

But him whose heart is as a temple holy, 
Whose prayer in every act of right is 
said — 
He sliall be strong, whether life's ills wear 
slowly. 
Or come like lightning down upon his 
head: 

He who for his own good or for another. 
Ready to pray and strive and labor, 
stands: 
Who loves his God by loving well his 
brother. 
And worships Him by keeping His com- 
mands. 

Phobbb Cast. 



334 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ANOTHER YEAR. 

Another year, another year, 

Hatli sped its flight on silent wing. 

And all that marked its brief career 
Hath passed from mortal reckoning. 

Lord, for thy grace and patient love, 
Unwearied still and still the same, 

For all our hopes of joy above, 
We laud and bless thy holy name. 

Still bear with us and bless us still; 

And while in this dark world we stay. 
Oh, let us love tliy sacred will! 

Oh, let us keep thy narrow way! 

So when the rolling stream of time 
Hath opened to a boundless sea, 

Ijoud will we raise that song divine, 
"All power and glory be to thee:" 

Richard F. Littledale. 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 

A mournful sermon greets my ear! 
The pensive season of the year 
Now preaclies in a muffled tone 
From nature's fast-decaying throne. 
Come to the woodland's cold retreat; 
The leaves that rustle at thy feet, 
With all that linger o'er thy head — 
Commingling, yellow, green, and red — 
And all that, trembling leave their place 
And softly greet their mother's face. 
As sailing from their lofty top. 
They in your presence mournful drop, 
Remind the thoughtful passer-by. 
Thy falling autumn, too, is nigh. 

Life has its gay and happy spring, 
When birds of every feather sing; 
Its warm and verdant summer, brief, 
Which hastens to the yellow leaf. 
Soon winter's icy hand will lie 
Upon our cold and lifeless clay. 
But oh! our soul — where will it be 
Throughout the long eternity? 
How can this question pass your mind 
As falling leaves drift in the wind? 

And more than man's mortality 

The falling leaves would preach to thee. 

As one by one they take the gale 

And spread their carpet in the vale. 

They'd on thy heart much wisdom seal: 

They make to man this strong appeal: 

"Do ye, O highest earthly kind, 

Fill your creation's lofty end? 

Do ye all obligations meet. 

As we our mission here complete? 

Why blush ye so, ye favored race? 

■^Hiy that confusion on your face? 

Can ye. like us. and truthful, tell, 

'We've filled our lot. and done it well?' 

■We've helped to clothe the forest green 

And bless the woodland's happy scene; 

And so inspire the minstrelsy 



Of birds that sing to God and thee. 
Hast thou done more to dignify 
Thyself, O man, and glorify 
Thy Maker's name? 

"Withal, 
We spread our leaflet parasol. 
High arching many a green arcade, 
Where you could walk in blissful shade. 
And on us leaves is written down 
Another debt you owe the Crown. • 
The carbon acids you exhale. 
For your own sake we do inhale. 
And thus relieve the atmosphere 
Of poisons that are deletere. 
Instead of these we freely give 
The oxygen on which you live, 
The vital force ordained of God 
To turn your food to living blood. 

"And 'neath our gothic canopy, 

Reared up by God so cool and free. 

Oft met the sons of heavenly birth — 

Beloved on high, outcast on earth — 

To worship him, the fountain pure 

Of life and peace forevermore. 

Their songs, ascending through tlie trees. 

We echoed out upon the breeze; 

And when the Spirit's awful flame 

Came rushing down in Jesus' name. 

We felt a shaking in the trees. 

And trembled in the holy breeze. 

"And oft the lonely heart of grief 

Came seeking God for soul-relief 

Deep in the forest, where we spread 

An awning over his bowing head; 

The while our sisters 'neath the trees 

Laid down a mattress for his knees, 

And here, in nature's temple bowed. 

His plaints, not formed for listening crown. 

But for the ear of God alone. 

Went up as incense to the throne." 

The heavens bowed to hear his prayer, 

And glory filled his bosom there; 

Until the leaves upon the trees 

Seemed angels hovering in the breeze. 

Ah! there's a sweet and sacred spell 
That draws me to the sliady dell; 
Here could my soul with God remain 
In meditation's holy frame. 
Ho! all ye men that know not God, 
Come seek him in the shady wood; 
And. all ye saints of feeble love. 
'\^'■hen will ye come and wisely prove 
The blessedness that crowns the hour 
That's spent with God m leafy bower? 
If only heard, your prayers, ye say — 
Then unto God ye never pray: 
For did ye truly seek his face 
And pray to win his saving grace. 
You'd pray when mortals are not near, 
Right in your heavenly Father's ear. 
In public, too; yea, everywhere. 
But most of all with secret prayer; 
"VS^ere only silent leaves applaud. 
There would ye bow and worship God. 
The man that sits in silent pout 
Toward his wife when friends are out, 



POExMS OF RELIGION. 



335 



But talks polite in company — 

His love is vile hypocrisy: 

So hearts that seek not God alone, 

Deny the One in public owned; 

For sure as love is Heaven's throne, 

Love is most free with loved alone. 

Then in the hush of solitude 
Come listen to the voice of God; 
Come oft, and he shall teach thine ear 
His gentle words of love to hear. 

There is no place on earth so sweet 
As forest shades, where streamlets meet 
And sing along their rocky ways, 
With birds, and universal praise. 
Do not the lover and his maid. 
Delighted, walk the balmy shade. 
And there unlock, with words so blest, 
The pent-up love within tlieir breast? 
The crazy-quilt spread on the ground. 
Of beauty-tinted leaves around. 
Each bright sunbeam and fragrant flower, 
And nature's music in the bower — 
But, most of all, the cooing dove — 
Lend inspiration to tlieir love. 
And does not nature's solitude 
Inspire a soul to worship God? 
Behold, he framed her majesty. 
Cast up her hills, and carved tue way 
For babbling brooks that flow between 
And tread the winding valley's green. 
The many lovely trees that spread 
Their sheltering wings above our head. 
Rose up by his supreme behest. 
With all their nuts and fruitage blest. 
He taught the vine their trunks to climb, 
Like cords of love their boughs entwine. 
Thus love has reared his towering throne 
With cedars of sweet Lebanon, 
And built a temple for his bride. 
With many mansions, cool and wide, 
Wliose walls are hung with tapestry 
Of vines that spin from tree to tree. 
And through the windows of his bowers 
The sunbeams come to paint the flowers 
That beautify the lovely scene, 
Then bridal chamber of the queen. 
And in these walls of living green 
The King of glory may be seen; 
He "feeds among the lilies" there. 
Himself the rose, and lily fair. 
The voice of my Beloved hear 
While autumn tints proclaim so near 
The spoiling of his summer home. 
"Rise up, my love, my fair one, come," 
And gather lilies — graces meet — 

In prayer low at thy Savior's feet. 
Come ere the touch of frost shall rob 
The forest of its gorgeous robe. 
And leave the boughs all naked weep, 
Their glory cast beneath thy feet. 
Hear thou, O man, our autumn chant 
While sunbeams coldly o'er us slant. 
And mournfully we fall so low. 
To don our winding-sheet of snow. 
There doomed in silence to decay. 
So, too, thou, man must pass away; 
Thy springs of life shall lower run 



Until thy life's last setting sun. 
Then in thy grave-suit, coldly wound. 
Like us return to mother ground. 

But we are not without a seed, 

From which anew tliere may proceed 

Our kind to grow and multiply. 

As round and round the seasons fly. 

So, man, within thy mortal breast. 

There is a soul, imniort."iI quest. 

That shall reanimate thy clay. 

And both, immortal, live for aye. 

Thou slialt from winter's sleep arise, 

And meet thy Savior in the skies. 

With this blessed hope so sure and bright. 

All seasons beam with golden light; 

In winter's storm and summer's heat. 

The pure in heart have joys complete; 

And wlien the close of life appears. 

His pleasures ripen with his years- 

Unlike the sinner, dark and cold, 

Wlio, graceless, godless, hopeless, old. 

Sits lowly down in autumn's vale. 

His life all fruitless to bewail. 

Each falling leaf his conscience stings 

And thoughts of fu.ture judgment brings; 

Tea, warns him that the time is nigh 

When he in black despair must die. 

Unlike the life in folly spent 

And no%v with sinful years is bent 

Low at the grave with dismal moan; 

Nay, "for the righteous light is sown," 

Yes, light that brightens in the vale 

Of falling leaves, where he can hail 

The glories of another world; 

Wliere mortal shafts are never hurled 

Xor cruel frosts can ever sting. 

There life begins another spring 

To flourish in eternal green. 

In heaven's high celestial scene. 

Daniel S. Wabnii. 



ETERNITY. 

I stood at the time-beaten portals, 

Where many a pilgrim had passed 
Out into the infinite future. 

To be with the pure and the blest; 
And musing in silent devotion. 

Eternity seemed to draw near, 
And strains from the choir of the faithful 

I seemed in my fancy to hear. 

I lingered and silently listened 

To the dull, heavy tread of the years. 
And thought of the fate of the guilty 

■Rlien Christ in his glory appears. 
A shudder came over my spirit 

As I thought what a moment might cost; 
For eternity's stillness was broken 

By the groans and the sighs of the lost. 

I saw then the Judge in his splendor. 

As he stepped to his great judgment-seat. 
And thought of the crashing of ages. 

When Time and Eternity meet: 
For Time, who has laid many millions 

To slumber in death's silent shade. 



3S*i 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Shall reel at Eternity's presence, 
And sleep in the tomb he has made. 

Let U3 work while 'tis day, brother, sister; 

For soon shall the Master return 
To garner the wheat that we harvest, 

The chaff in his fury to burn. 
Then, in haste let us rush to the rescue, 

But few can we save at the most: 
Soc.n millions shall be at the judgrment, 

Forever eternally lost. 

D. O. Teaslev. 



MY MOTHER S PRAYERS. 

How bright were the days of my life's 
happy dawning. 
When free from all burden and care! 
My mind wanders back to the old family 
circle 
When Father and Mother were there. 
In morning's bright rays and in evening's 
dim shadows. 
No matter how busy they were. 
Dear brothers and sisters all gathered 
around them 
And knelt at the altar of prayer. 

The first I remember in childhood's fair 
mornings 
The thought Is most precious and dear — 
My brother and I by her side were both 
kneeling. 
While Mother was pleading in prayer. 
As older I grew and my feet wandered out- 
ward, 
A prodigal hopeless in sin. 
Those prayers stayed my progress In soi-- 
row's direction 
And turned my steps backward again. 

When manhood was reached, and I left the 
home circle. 
My lot to fulfil in life's call. 
The gospel words came, "Go thou forth to 
the nations. 
And preach the glad tidings to all." 
As onward I went on my far-away mission 

O'er land and tempestuous sea. 
Way back in that home, on her knees at 
the altar, 
Dear Mother kept praying for me. 

How often I felt it! 'When battling with 
powers 
To sink my poor soul in despair, 
A heavenly glory broke through the thick 
darkness — 
The answer to her fervent prayer. 
But what a sad change has come! like the 
short moments 
That swiftly pass over our head. 
That dear loving one has now ceased her 
petitions — 
A telegram — "Mother is dead." 

My heart feels its sorrow, bereft of dear 

Mother. 



The loss of those prayers that have 
ceased; 
But if upon them I too mucli have de- 
pended, 
God grant that my own be increased. 
As now J. look upward to lieaven's bright 
altar, 
A glorious vision I see; 
Those prayers are all treasured in bright 
golden vials, 
And ottered with incense for me. 

Men speak of ricli pearls from the depths 
of the ocean. 
Of diamonds and gold from the eartli; 
They tell of their fortunes, their wealth, 
and great treasures, 
Tlieir honor and high royal birth: 
Thank God, I've a treasure of far greater 
value 
Than earth'.s gilded wealth witli its cares. 
Or mans boasted honor, that fades in a 
moment; 
This treasure is dear Mother's prayers. 

J. W. BYEK9. 



GOD S FORGETFULNESS. 

Ttiou wilt cast all their sins into the deptba 
of the sea. — Micah 7:19. 

I will cast in the depths of the fathom- 
less sea 

All thy sins and transgressions, whatever 
they be; 

Though they mount up to heaven, though 
they sink down to hell. 

They shall sink in the depths, and above 
them shall swell 

All my waves of forgiveness, so mighty 
and free; 

I will cast all thy sins in the depths of the 
sea. 

In the depths, in the depths, where the 

storm can not come, 
Where its faint echo falls like a musical 

hum. 
Where no mortal can enter thy faults to 

deride. 
For above them forever flows love's mighty 

tide. 
Of their sepulchers vast I thy God hold the 

key. 
And I bury them there in the depths of 

tlie sea. 

In the deep silent depths, far away from 
the sliore, 

■^ihere they never may rise to trouble thee 
more; 

Where no far-reaching tide, with its piti- 
less sweep. 

May stir the dark waves of forgetfulness 
deep — 

T liave buried them there, where no mortal 
may see; 

I have cast all thy sins In the depths of 
the sea 

Written by an Irish factory glll. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



337 



TO THE TRUMPET FAMILY. 

[Upon their re^^umption of tbe work of publisbiDg 
The Gospel Trumpet^ at Anderson, Ind., after the 
removal of tbe pubiisblu^ office from Moundsville, 
W. Va.. September. 1906.] 

Through Father's loving-kindness, once 
again 
The workers will resume each former 
task, 
And doubtless in their labor spare no pain 
To make the flying moments do their 
best; 
For golden opportunities await 

The consecrated labor of your hands. 
And printed messages can well relate 
The precious truth in other, distant lands. 

The Master's gentle footstep at the door. 

The waiting harvest-fleld already white. 
The tolling bells on yonder, distant shore, 
Tha lengthened shadows of approaching 
night, 
Inspire your hearts anew with faith and 
zeal, 
To gather in the gleanings from the 
thorns, 
That loved ones lost, for whom you weep 
and toil, 
Be clothed in robes of white when he re- 
turns. 

Oh! will we not with rapture then review 
The perils and the heartaches of today. 
The silent tears that marked our journey 
through 
While clothed upon with this our house 
of clay? 
Exceeding far the beauty we behold 

■VThile toiling in his service for the lost. 
Will be our joy In that eternal fold 

■U'hen those we've gained shall enter into 
rest. 

Oh, that upon the table of each heart 
This truth may be inscribed without al- 
loy! 
Then love divine will sweeten every part 
Of that which earth would tarnish or 
destroy; 
Of treasures lost or kindred left behind. 
Of broken threads from love's vibrating 
chords; 
Each wound his tender sympathy will find. 
Strengthened by the grace this hope af- 
fords. 

Then sometimes let your hands refrain 
from toil. 
Though pressing labor waits each hour 
through; 
To linger at his feet a little while, 
Will often gain a victory for two. 
'Tis there we learn the secret of his love. 
And find the treasures hidden in his 
grace: 
The ransomed soul no sweeter joy can have 
Than that awaiting In this sacred place. 

As finger-prints upon the spotless page. 
So earthly care will mar the peace within: 



Then while your hands with constant toil 
engage. 
Oh, let no foe despoil with cankered sin! 
While every one that counts his service 
sweet 
The precious Master owns and loves so 
well, 
To linger often at His lovely feet 
Will prove a nobler, better service still. 

When all the scattered sheaves are bound 
again 
And garnered, and the gleaning-time is 
done; 
Wlien evening shadows lengthened o'er the 
plain 
Shall vanish wiin earth's last declining 
sun; 
And when you reach those portals in the 
skies, 
And view with rapture the immortal 
dawn, — ■ 
Mid other scenes that wait your weeping 
eyes, 
Will be so many lost ones gathered home. 

JEXNIH Mast. 



DEEDS, NOT WORDS. 

Not forever on thy knees 

Would Jehovali have thee found; 
There are griefs Jehovah sees: 
There are burdens thou canst ease; 

Look around. 

Work is prayer if done for God, 

Prayer which God delighted hears. 
See beside yon upturned sod 
One bound 'neath affliction's rod; 
Dry her tears. 

Not long prayers, bu.t earnest zeal, 

This is what is wanted more: 
Put thy shoulder to the wheel; 
Bread unto the famished deal 

From thj' store. 

Not high-sounding words of praise 

Does God want 'neath some grand dome, 
But that thou the fallen raise. 
Bring the poor from life's highways 
To thy home. 

Worship God by doing good; 

Works, not words; kind acts, not creeds: 
He who loves God as he should. 
Makes his heart's love understood 

By kind deeds. 

Deeds are powerful: mere words, weak. 
Battering at high heaven's door; 

Let thy love by actions speak; 

Wipe the tear from sorrow's cheek: 
Clothe the poor. 

Be It thine life's cares to smother, 

And to brighten eyes now dim; 
Kind deeds done to one another 
God accepts as done, my brother. 
Unto him. 



338 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



TRUTH. 

Light after darkness, gain after loss, 
Strengtli after suffering, crown after cross. 
Sweet after bitter, song after sigli. 
Home after wandering, praise after cry. 

Sheaves after sowing, sun after rain. 
Sight after misery, peace after pain, 
Joy after sorrow, calm after blast. 
Rest after weariness, sweet rest at last. 

Near after distant, gleam after gloom. 
Love after loneliness, life after tomb. 
After long agony, rapture of bliss. 
Right was the pathway leading to this. 



THE VAUDOIS TEACHER. 

[This poem was suggested hy tbe account given of 
the manner in which the Waldenses disseminated 
their principles among the Catholic gentry. The}' 
gained access to the house through their occupation 
as peddlers of sillis, jewels, and trinkets. "Hav- 
ing disposed of some of their goods," it is said by a 
writer who quotes the inquisitor Rainerus Sacco. 
"they cautiously intimated that they had commodi- 
ties far more valuable than these, inestimable jew- 
els, which they would sltow if they could be pro- 
tected from the clergy. They would then give their 
purchasers a Bible or Testament, and thereby many 
were deluded into heresy."] 

"O lady fair, these silks of mine are beau- 
tiful and rare — 

The richest web of the Indian loom, which 
beauty's queen might wear; 

And my pearls are pure as thy own fair 
neck, with whose radiant liglit they 
vie; 

I have brought them with me a weary 
way: will my gentle lady buy?" 

The lady smiled on the worn old man 

through the dark and clustering curls 
Which veiled her brow, as she bent to view 

his silks and glittering pearls: 
And slio placed their price in tlie old man's 

hand and lightly turned away. 
But she paused at the wanderer's earnest 

call — "My gentle lady, stay! 

"O lady fair, I have yet a gem which a 

purer luster flings 
Than the diamond flash of the jeweled 

crown on the lofty brow of kings; 
A wonderful pearl of exceeding price, whose 

virtue siiall not decay. 
Whose light shall be as a spell to thee 

and a blessing on thy way." 

The lady glanced at the mirroring steel 
where her form of grace was seen, 

WTiere her eye shone clear and her dark 
locks waved their clasping pearls be- 
tween: 

"Bring forth thy pearl of exceeding worth, 
thou traveler gray and old. 

And name the price of thy precious gem, 
and my page shall count thy gold." 

The cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow, 
as a smnll and meager book^ 



Unchased with gold or gem of cost, from 

his folding robe he took. 
"Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price. May 

it prove as such to thee! 
Nay, keep thy gold — I ask it not, for the 

Word of God is free!" 

The hoary traveler went his way, but the 

gift he left behind 
Hath had its pure and perfect work on that 

high-born maiden's mind, 
And she hath turned from the pride of sin 

to the lowliness of truth. 
And given her human heart to God in its 

beautiful hour of youth. 

And she hath left the gray old lialls, wliere 

an evil faith had power. 
The courtly knights of her fatlier's train, 

and tlie maidens of her bower; 
And she hatli gone to the Vaudois Vales by 

lordly feet untrod, 
WTiere the poor and needy of earth are rich 

in the perfect love of God. 

John Grbenlbap Whittibb. 



NEW- YEAR S GREETING. 

Jan. 1, 1890, 

Another year has come and gone. 

So swiftly flows unceasing time, 
Forever on and on and on. 

With sorrow's groan and merry chime 
Commingled in its surging tide. 

Time bears along upon its flood 
Poor human wrecks by sin destroyed; 

Yet o'er its stream the hand of God 
Still bends his bow of hope divine; 
Its hues of love in beauty shine. 

Another year of hope and fear 

Has swept around its dial-plate. 
And with it thousands disappear 

To higher bliss or awful fate. 
God grant to us who yet survive 

A heart of fervent gratitude, 
And grace tliat we may wholly live 

To glorify the Source of good; 
Then should this be our final year. 
We'll sink to rest witliout a fear. 

Another year hath brought its store 

In rich profusion at our feet, 
That we should heart and soul adore 

Our Maker's love so broad and deep. 
And have you cast your bread upon 

The waters of the passing year. 
In hope that what your hands have done 

Will in much future good appear? 
Then as thy faith so shall it be; 
In coming days thine eyes shall see. 

Another year! How hast thou done? 

Leaf back its record now and see. 
Have from thy life such virtues ^one 

That, blessing others, back on thee 
Rebounded in a rich reward? 

Or hath the year rolled over thy head, 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



339 



Witli no oblation to its Lord? 

Then tliy own soul thou hast not fed, 

And Clirlst the Judge will say to thee, 

"From men withheld, thou hast from me." 

Another year! How many more 

Will pass till all the fleeting train 
Shall disappear upon the shore 

Of retrospection's endless plain? 
Behold the past with signals new 

Has rushed along' before our eyes. 
Presaging that but very few 

Shall follow till, in dread surprise. 
This world shall see the woful end, 
And all the sons of God ascend. 

Another year of solemn space 

Leaps forth from vast futurity, 
And, winter-girded, starts his race 

Back into past eternity. 
Old time once strictly measured off, 

And wrapped around tliis earthen ball — 
For Heaven's plan just long enough — 

Unwinding fast will soon be all; 
As earth revolves each day and year. 
The end of time is drawing near. 

Another year begins today. 

Wliat solemn destinies are hid 
Within its folds we can't foresee, 

As on its margin-ground we tread. 
If from it falls some bitter drop. 

Oh! give lis grace to make it sweet. 
And bless the hand that holds the cup. 

And :r_akes all things together meet 
P or good to them who love his name 
And move upon his holy plane. 

Another year, and with it comes 

A call for valiant-hearted men, 
-^11 panoplied in heavenly arms. 

The tide of sin and Iiell to stem — 
Devoted hearts to God and truth, 

Who dare unsheath and use the sword 
Of sin-destroying love, forsooth. 

Win back the humble to the Lord, 
And show through grace and cleansing blood 
How saints made perfect walk with God. 

Another year, and who will be 

A hero on its heaving breast. 
Fill all its moments as they flee. 

With deeds in sacred virtue blest. 
And so rear up a monument 

More lasting than the pyramids. 
Tea, than the starry firmament? 

True wisdom always highest bids 
For trophies of immortal good. 
That age unending honor God. 

Another year has now set in! 

Oh! who will take it by the hand, 
A new and upward race begin, 

And leave your folly all behind? 
How many years you've thrown away. 

Spent careless, "as a tale that's told"! 
Awake to life's great end today 

And turn thy remnant days to gold. 
Oh, be a victor in the strife 
And win a starry crown of life! 

Daniel S. Warner. 



CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 

Christmas gifts for thee. 
Fair and free! 
Precious things from the heavenly store. 
Filling thy casket more and more; 
Golden love in divinest chain. 
That never can be untwined again; 
Silvery carols of joy that swell 
Sweetest of all in the heart's lone cell; 
Pearls of peace that were sought for theo 
In the terrible depths of a fiery sea; 
Diamond promises sparkling bright. 
Flashing in farthest-reaching light. 

Christmas gifts for thee, 
Grand and free! 
Christmas gifts from tlie King of love, 
Brought from his royal home above. 
Brought to thee in the far-off land. 
Brought to thee by his own dear hand; 
Promises held by Christ for thee; 
Peace as a river flowing free; 
.Toy that in his own joy must live. 
And love that infinite love can give. 
Surely thy heart of hearts uplifts 
Carols of praise for such Christmas gifts! 
Frances Ridley Havergal. 



MAN S FALL. 

He fell and can not rise. The years have 

flown 
Into the past, and as they glided by, 
Fond hopes were crushed; anticipations lie 
As withered rosebuds at his feet, unblown; 
While yawning gaps supplant each golden 

dream 
And stretch their wastes back to the dark 

unseen. 

He fell — from brightest day to blackest 

night; 
From freedom's mountain height to slavery. 
To wretchedness, despair, and misery. 
To woful want, to guilt, and sinful blight. 
With gathering momentum, farther still 
He sinks into sin's hell and Satan's will. 

O wretched man! you can not save yourself; 
Your broken efforts hang mere reeking 

wrecks. 
Decaying on time's rugged shores. Regrets 
Alone survive. No human hand can help 
You o'er the heaving sea 'twixt sin and 

bliss; 
You have no power to leave a place like 

this. 

O helpless slave! your weakness dooms you 

there; 
Your efforts plunge you lower still; in vain 
You try to raise yourself from this low 

plane; 
Exhausted, then, you sink in dark despair. 
You can not help yourself, but God's sweet 

love 
Will reach those depths and lift your soul 

above. 

O. P. Link. 



340 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE BETTER PART. 

Along the road to Bethany 
A weary traveler we see; 
No equipage to bear him on, 
He wends his weary way alone; 
His sandaled feet with dust agrime; 
Yet in that countenance sublime, 
And noble form of kingly grace, 
That tranquil brow, that comely face, 
We more than Just a traveler see. 
Tea, 'tis the Christ of Galilee. 

Blest be the road those beauteous feet 
Traversed; blest be the flowers they greet. 
Which slied perfume along the way 
For the noble Guest that comes today. 
O Bethany! thou art truly blest. 
To entertain so great a Guest. 

To some famed royal palace fair 
Will this One turn of visage rare? 
All, no! the lowly he doth seek. 
The contrite ones, the poor, the meek; 
For though the multitudes he's fed. 
He hath not where to lay his head. 
Perchance last night no sleep did see. 
But spent in prayer for you and me. 

To Martha's quiet home he turns 
And finds the humble Mary yearns 
To know the truth, the light, the way; 
So, gladly welcomes Christ today. 
She sits awhile low at his feet. 
And, sitting there, she finds it meet 
Her cares and woes with him to leave, 
Because of them no more to grieve; 
And while his grace he doth impart. 
She chooseth there the "better part" — 

The better part that doth rejoice 
At tribulation's woful voice: 
Tho better part that cou.nts it joy 
When great temptations would destroy 
The blessed peace and glorious rest 
Abiding in the tranquil breast: 
The better part that ever sings 
Beneath tlie shadow of his wings; 
That feels the everlasting arms 
Protecting from the world's alarms; 

That trusts while in the furnace flame 

With Job in great Jehovah's name — 

"I'll serve thee Lord, though thou me slay, 

But purge the dross from me away": 

The better part to follow on, 

To say with Him "thy will be done," 

Not only here in Bethany, 

But even in dark Gethsemane. 

Then choose, oh, choose this better part. 
Thou weary one with aching heart! 
For this same Christ is on the way. 
To give thee rest and grace today; 
And if his presence thou wouldst see. 
Prepare for him a Bethany; 
Then sit thou at his feet awhile: 
He'll from thy heart all care beguile; 
He from thy burdens will release. 
In tribulation grive sweet peace. 



Just at his feet, his blessed feet, 
To rest there in submission sweet: 
There he this gracious promise brings, 
"Thine is the healing in my wings." 
Then call on him with all thine heart, 
"O give me. Lord, this better part." 

EV4 M. WB4T. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 

The eventide falls gently now 

By Kedron's side, o'er Olive's brow. 

And through the gloom methinks I see 

A lonely form in prayer for me. 

The gentle tone, through stately trees, 

Is borne upon the murmuring breeze. 

He bowed his head — God's only Son — 

And meekly said, "Thy will be done." 

In fervent prayer for you and me 

He wrestled there in agony; 

With drops of sweat of crimson hue 

His brow was wet, as witli the dew. 

In tears he knelt, with troubled soul, 

While there he felt death's sorrows roll; 

Our sins he bore — the Holy One — 

And said once more, "Thy will be done.' 

And then before his vision came 
The crown of thorns, the cruel shame. 
With scorn of those he sought to save. 
The reeking cross, the silent grave. 
"This hitter cup, O Lord, I pray, 
Before 1 sup, take thou away" — 
Yet answered still, as there he knelt, 
"Not as I will, but as thou wilt." 

Gethsemane! O sacred place! 
Once more I see my Savior's face; 
It shines anew with glory now. 
And angels smooth his pallid brow. 
Oh, let me ever this scene behold! 
Oh, let me hear the story told 
Of him who there the victory won. 
Who said in prayer, "Thy will be done"! 
Clara M. Bbooks. 



MARTYRED HEROES. 

Patriots have toiled, and in their country's 

cause 
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they de- 
serve. 
Receive proud recompense. We give in 

charge 
Their names to the sweet lyre; th' historic 

muse. 
Proud of the treasure, marches with it 

down 
To latest time; and sculpture, in her turn. 
Gives bond in stone and everduring brass 
To guard them, and to immortalize her 

trust. 
But fairer wreaths are due, though never 

paid. 
To those, who, posted at the shrine of 

truth. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



3*1 



Have fallen in her defense. . • • 

• • • » Their blood is shed 

In confirmation of the noblest claim — 
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth. 
To walk with God, to bo divinely free, 
To soar and to anticipate the skies! 
Yet few remember them. They lived un- 
known 
Till persecution dragged them into fame, 
And chased them up to heaven. Their 

ashes flew — 
Xo marble tells us whither. With their 

names 
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:. 
And history, so warm on meaner themes. 
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 
The tyranny that doomed them to the fire, 
But gives the glorious sufferers little 
praise. 

William Cowpkr. 



SONG. 

Ho that is down need fear no fall; 

He that is low, no pride; 
He tliat is humble ever shall 

Have God to be his guide. 

I am content with what I have. 

Little be it or much; 
And, Lord, contentment still I crave. 

Because thou savest such. 

Fulness to such a burden is 

That go on pilgrimage; 
Here little, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age. 

John* Bunta.v. 



GOD IS LOVE. 

"God is love." So spake a little child 
With golden hair, and blue eyes soft an.i 

mild: 
Her voice was tremulous with childish fear; 
The words fell gently on our listening ear; 
W'e felt the power of her simple grace; 
We saw the beauty of the upturned face: 
And as we lifted up our eyes above. 
Our hearts responded, "Truly God is love." 

"God is love." The words came low and 
faint 

From pallid lips of sick and dying saint 

His race is over, life's battles fought and 
won. 

His trials past, his triumph soon begun; 

He points above where all to him is bright; 

His eyes are filled with radiant, heavenly 
light; 

We clasp the hand, and, weeping, still re- 
ply, 

"Yes, God is love, who reigns in earth and 
sky." 

"God is love." An angel's voice is heard 
Sweeter than music of the singing bird; 



Its power fills the heaven's vaulted dome; 
Each heart is thrilled in that angelic 

home; 
Each head is bowed in humble reverence, 
Each soul uplifted there with sweet in- 
cense: 
On, on it rolls to each celestial shore: 
"Our God is love now and forevermore" 

"God is love." A countless multitude 
Of blood-washed saints before Jehovah 

stood. 
Each heart aflame with holy, heavenly fire: 
They praise him there with tongues that 

never tire; 
The seraphim and angels join the strain: 
"Give glory to the Lamb for sinners slain!" 
Yes. God is love; his love has made us free; 
Still sound it on to all eternity. 

JA-MES B. BBAXAM. 



THE SINNER S DOOM. 

How fearfully thy guilty soul recoils! 
Defiled by sin, 'tis fit for only spoils, 
One step before, probation's limit crossed. 
Thy erring soul eternally is lost. 
Whilst thou averted from thy God doth 

stray, 
Hope, bartered for a trifle, flees away. 
The ghastly reaper, Death, thy form doth 

claim; 
Soon prostrate at his feet, inactive, slain, 
'Twill lie. The screen that veils the great 

unknown 
Shall rend, disclosing then the judgment 

til rone. 

With blazing eye. Omnipotence shall pierce 

Thy hopeless spirit, seized by awful fears. 

Thy soul entwined in ghastly fiends' em- 
brace. 

Ill-fated, lost will sink. Dark dwelling- 
place! 

Thy destiny attained, and this thy doom. 

Xo ray of light can pierce the sable gloom: 

Destructive, desolating wrath will wreak 

Eternal vengeance on thy soul. Thou' It 
seek 

Relief, but future will no hope disclose; 

Xo mercy now will ever interpose. 

Today the Spirit and the Bride say, 
"Coma": 

So earnestly the Savior calls thee home; 

But grieved, refused, they loathly now de- 
part. 

And Satan claims thy careless, hardened 
heart. 

Thus his in life, in death thou art his own; 

Yea, thou shalt reap the seed which thou 
hast sown. 

Engulfed with myriads then in awful night. 

Thou Shalt behold the horrifying sight; 

Thy banished soul in torment's flames shall 
reap 

The wages of thy sin — the cost of carnal 
sleep. 

■ O. P. Linn. 



S42 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR 

1906. 

In solemn measured tones the midnight 
bells 

Ring out the clo.sing of another year, 
The while with gratitude our bosom swells 

As on its closing page we drop a tear. 
Its folded diary we'll lay aside, 

Nor pause the moistened pages to in- 
terview; 
If failures in its columns are inscribed, 

A spotless one is offered in the new. 

If any past event we would recall. 

Forbid that failure interpose a pain; 
His tender love so gracious unto all 

Will count the failures past a future 
gain. 
And while upon the threshold of the new 

We linger at His lovely feet to pray. 
Depending on his guardian love so true 

To keep the new year's pages clean each 
day. 

W.e would not fail to hymn a grateful 
song 
For blessings past that marked the old 
year through: 
Have not the closed pages one by one 
Been sprinkled oft with Horeb's precious 
dew? 
And on those moistened leaves we can re- 
trace 
The needed strength in sorest trials 
given; 
In memory 'twill hold a sacred place 
When we review the record up in heaven. 

Methinks if yonder record we might see. 
Our weepings should become one grateful 
song; 
For we would find inscribed indelibly 
The Victoria?! our tears and prayers have 
won; 
For there in golden letters are enrolled 

The preciouj jewels added to His crown — 
The straying ones we sheltered from the 
cold 
Or gathered 'neath the noonday's beam- 
ing sun. 

The new yeai- offers us a wider range 

In which our faith may exercise a claim. 
And from the millions lost 'twould not be 
Strang© 
If many p!ecious souls should be our 
gain. 
For this we'll labor on from early morn, 
And in the shade of eacli approaching 
night 
We'll Ttray that from the seeds our hands 
have strewn 
Some fallen. Iielpless souls may see the 
light. 

Afar beyond the ocean's rolling waves 
A multitude awaits the Joyful sound. 

And Calvary's atonement freely saves 

Wherever the lost and dying i:iay be 
found. 



In all the ■world, from Greenland's icy 
strand 

To every isle and clime beyond the sea, 
All creatures who repent at His command 

Are bound in cords of love and unity. 

We trust that ere the midnight bells so 
true 
Shall ring the closing of another year 
Our gathered sheaves may number not a 
few, 
Thouah they be sprinkled over with many 
a tear. 
If missing tithes today were quickly 
brought. 
Each laborer would surely be supplied. 
And far and near His jewels would be 
sought; 
For lack of means not one would be de- 
nied. 

And in that coming year's immortal dawn — 
That grand new year whose bells will 
never toll — 
We'll find the triumphs that our labor won 
Will number many a precious ransomed 
soul. 
What matter for the painful toiling here? 
What matter for the weepings all the 
way. 
If we but gain that other blessed new year, 
Where sighings cease and tears are 
wiped away? 

JENNIB Mast. 



ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND. 

[The night after breaking camp at the Emlenton, 
Pa., camp grountl. August. 190.5.] 

Jacob like, as night came on 

And waning day began to gloom, 

By vacant tent I sat alone 

And thought, "This world is not my home." 

Sinners and saints alike had gone, 

Like birds at night, each to its own. 

Then came the happj', solemn thought 

That here upon this sacred spot 

By many souls was mercy sought 

And by as many pardon found 

While tenting on the old camp-ground. 

Prayer spanned immensity of space. 
And, reaching to the throne of grace, 
Brought peace and pardon from above 
And filled the mourning soul with love. 
Nor can I e'er forget those prayers 
And songs that echo in my ears, 
And shall through all the coming yeara 
Until I reach that heavenly place 
And s.ea my Savior "face to face." 

And many learned to trust the Lord 
From precious truths that here were heard. 
While sounded out God's precious Word 
From pulpit, and from altar too. 
By hearing of its meaning true. 
They learned to know that God would do 
Just as his Holy T'ord had said, 
In leading all that 77ould be led. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



343 



To walk with him the "King's highway," 

And be a refuge and a stay 

To all who trust him and obey 

This precious truth sliould e'er be told — 

That now, as in the days of old. 

He leads his people by the hand; 

And now, as then, at his command 

The wind is stilled, the sea is calmed, 

And trusting souls are brought to land. 

A. B. GlLDEHSLEEVE. 



HEREAFTER. 

O land beyond the setting sun! 

O realms more fair than poets dream! 
How clear thy silvery streamlets run! 

How bright thy golden glories gleam! 

Earth holds no counterpart of thine; 

The dark-browed Orient, jewel-crowned. 
Pales, as she bows before thy shrine. 

Shrouded in mystery so profound. 

The dazzling north, tii© stately west, 
"^liose rivers flow from mount to sea; 

Tlie south, flower "wreathed in languid 
rest. — 
What are they all compared with tliee? 

All lands, all realms beneath yon dome, 
Where God's own hand has hung the 
stars. 

To thee with humblest homage come, 
O world beyond the crystal bars! 

Thou blessed hereafter! Mortal tongue 
Hath striven in vain thy speech to learn, 

And fancy wanders lost among 

The flowery paths for which we yearn. 

But well we know that fair and bright 
Far beyond human ken or dream, 

Too glorious for our feeble sight, 
The skies of cloudless azure beam. 

Vi'e know thy happy valleys lie 
In green repose supremely blest; 

We know- against thy sapphire sky 
Thy mountain peaks sublimely rest. 

And sometimes even now we catch 
Faint gleam ings from the far-oft shore. 

And still with eager eyes we watch 
For one sweet sign or token more. 

For oh! the deeply loved are there — 
The brave, the fair, the good, the wise. 

"Who pined for thy serener air. 

Nor shunned thy solemn mysteries. 

There are the hopes that, one by one. 

Died even as we gave them birth; 
The dreams that passed ere well begun, 

Too dear, too beautiful for earth. 

The aspirations, strong of wing, 

.Aiming at heights we could not reach. 

The songs we tried in vain to sing. 

Thoughts too vast for human speech — 



Tliou hast them all. Hereafter! Thou 
Shalt keep them safely till that hour 

When, w:ith God's seal on heart and brow, 
We claim them in immortal power. 



THE CITY OF GOD. 

O thou not made with hands, 
Not throned above the skies. 

Nor walled with shining walls. 
Nor framed witli stones of price. 

More bright tlian gold or gem, 

God's own Jerusalem! 

Wliere'er the gentle heart 
Finds courage from above. 

Where'er tlie heart forsook 

Warms with the breath of love. 

Where faith bids fear depart, 

City of God, thou art. 

Thou art w'here'er the proud 
In humbleness melts down. 

Where self itself yields up. 

Where martyrs win tncir crown, 

Where faitliful souls possess 

Themselves in perfect peace. 

Where in life's common ways 
With cheerful feet we go. 

When in his steps we tread 
Who trod the way of woe. 

Where he is in the heart. 

City of God, thou art. 

Not throned above the skies. 

Nor golden-walled afar, 
But where Christ's two or three 

In his name gathered are, 
Be in the midst of them, 
God's own Jerusalem. 

FBANCIS TUItNER PaLGRATE. 



JESUS. 

In the thorny desert straying. 
On tlie lonely mountain praying. 
In the streets and highways preaching 
(Oh, how gracious was his teaching!) 
Mysteries of grace revealing. 
Healing all who came for healing. 
Toiling, sorrowing day by day, — 
Passed his mortal years away. 

Oft when evening's quiet close 

Brought the season of repose. 

And the poorest toiling peasant 

Sought his home, by love made pleasant. 

Jesus trod no homeward way, 

Tarrying where they bade him stay. 

Or, for want of welcome said, 

Lacking "where to lay his head," 

On the damp and chilly sod 

Spent the hours in prayer to God. 

Son of God! what wondrous love 
Brought thee from thy throne above. 



344 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Made thee choose an humble birth, 
^hoose to tread the ways of earth, 
Human nature meekly wearing, 
Every human sorrow sharing. 
Bearing pride and scorn with meeltness. 
Kindly pitying human weakness. 
Patient gentleness displaying. 
Seeking out the lost and straying. 
Giving even thy life to buy 
Life for sinners doomed to die, — 
That redemption might be free 
Unto all who come to Thee? 

MBS. ai. J. E. Crawfobd. 



THE MINISTER S DAUGHTER. 

In the minister's morning sermon 
He had told of the primal fall. 

And how thenceforth the wrath of God 
Rested on each and all, 

And how, of his will and pleasure 
All souls, save a chosen few, 

Wlere doomed to the quenchless burning. 
And held in the way tliereto. 

Tet never by faith's unreason 

A saintlier soul was tried, 
And never the harsh old lesson 

A tenderer heart belied. 

And after the painful service 
On that pleasant Sabbath-day, 

He walked with his little daughter 
Through the apple-bloom of May. 

Sweet in the fresh green meadows 

Sparrow and blackbird sung; 
Above him tlieir tinted petals 

The blossoming orchards hung. 

Around on the wonderful glory 
The minister looked and smiled; 

"How good is the Lord who gives us 
These gifts from his hand, my child! 

"Behold in the bloom of apples 
And the violets in the sward 

A hint of the old, lost beauty 
Of the Garden of the Lord!" 

Then up spake the little maiden. 

Treading on snow and pink: 
"O father! these pretty blossoms 

Are very wicked, I think. 

"Had there been no Garden of Eden 
There never had been a fall; 

And if never a tree had blossomed, 
God would have loved us all." 

"Hush, child!" the father answered, 

"By his decree man fell; 
His ways are in clouds and darkness, 

But he doeth all thin.sjs well. 

"And whether by his ordaining 
To us Cometh good or ill. 



Joy or pain, or light or shadow. 
We must fear and love him still." 

"Oh, I fear him! " said the daughter, 

"And I try to love him, too; 
But I wish he was good and gentle, 

Kind and loving, as you." 

The minister groaned in spirit 
As the tremulous lips of pain 

And wide, wet eyes uplifted 
Questioned his own in vain. 

Bowing his head, he pondered 
The words of the little one; 

Had he erred in his life-long teaching? 
Had he wrong to his Master done? 

To what grim and dreadful idol 
Had he lent the holiest name? 

Did his own heart, loving and human, 
The God of his worship shame? 

And lo! from the bloom and greenness. 
From the tender skies above. 

And the face of his little daughter. 
He read a lesson of love. 

No more as the cloudy terror 

Of Sinai's mount of law. 
But as Christ in the Syrian lilies, 

The vision of God he saw. 

And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb, 
Of old was his presence known. 

The dread Ineffable Glory 
■Was Infinite Goodness alone. 

Thereafter his hearers noted 
In his prayers a tenderer strain. 

And never the gospel of hatred 
Burned on his lips again. 

And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, 
And the blinded eyes found sight. 

And hearts, as flint aforetime. 

Grew soft in his warmth and light. 

John Gceenleap Whittikb. 



LOVE IS FREEDOM S LAW. 

O love divine, unfathomed! 

O shoreless sea of bliss! 
Thy throne the highest heaven, 

Tet flowing down to this 
Dark world of guilt and sorrow. 

Redeems the fettered soul: 
Thy paths of peace I follow; 

O love, our hearts extol! 

Enshrined within the bosom 

Of Father's tender love. 
We seem in deep mid-ocean 

Of heaven's bliss above. 
Oh, wonders of redemption! 

"We gaze in silent awe 
Upon the new creation, 

Where love is freedom's law. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



345 



Worlds of ecstatic glory, 

Love opens to our view, 
■Wliere saints and angels truly 

Find j' ys forever new. 
Sweet element of heaven! 

He i8 supremely blest 
Wlio in thy sea overwhelmed 

Has found eternal rest. 

Love holds a royal scepter. 

And Mercy looketh down, 
Both calling to the sinner, 

"Come, wear a starry crown." 
Oh, sweet divine compassion! 

Poor sinner, taste and see; 
If grace thy heart may fashion, 

Then love shall reign in thee. 

Daniel's. Waeneb. 



SAVE, LORD, OR WE PERISH. 

The sun on its beat, in its oft retreat. 

As it marks the passing of time. 
Sinking to rest in the blue-hilled west, 

In its glory of gold sublime. 
Drives home to our heart till we almost 
start 

At the consciousness of that might 
Which has set on high in the vaulted sky 

That powerful orb of light. 
We look on the tide where the proud ships 
ride. 

Lashing itself into foam. 
Or in quietest grace holds a glass to our 
face, 

Mirroring hilltop and dome; 
The wind In its course, with a fearful 
force 

Or simply stirring the reed, 
Carrying death in its awful breath 

Or supplying a traveler's need. 
Sun, wind, and sea bring a message to me. 

Traced by a master liand; 
As its import deep comes with mighty 
sweep, 

I am made to understand. 
Sun, wind, and sea, in unconscious glee. 

Make me a target for sport, 
And in despair I ask, "Where, oh, where 

Shall I find me a placs of resort?" 
God made us all and swift at his call 

They marshal them, sun. wind, and wave; 
And I, only I, have failed to comply 

With the mandates he lovingly gave. 
Created with care in his image so fair. 

His intent a harmonious wliole. 
But thwarted his plan by ungrateful man; 

As a fool he has bartered his soul. 
In my fear I would hide from the oncom- 
ing tide; 

"Save me. Lord, save me!" I cry. 
"Take thou my hand, rise thou and stand," 

Comes a strong voice from on high : 
On him I cast all the unhappy past; 

Helpless, I come at his word. 
The sun still may beat in its fever of heat; 

In the cool shade I walk with my Lord. 



The current may sweep, piling heap upon 
heap; 
My bark is still sailing above. 
The wind may rush by with its death-deal- 
ing cry. 
But I rest in the breath of his love. 

MATIia G£BG£>'. 



SONGS OF THE PAST AND PRESENT. 

As we gaze with backward vision 
On the scenes our memories bring, 

V\'e remerabfr well the accents 
Of the songs we used to sing. 

"When I can read my title clear, 
WHien I can read my title clear, 
■When I can read my title clear. 
To mansions in the skies." 

But since Jesus bore the burden. 
Since by faith to him we cling. 

All our hearts are filled with music; 
This the song we now can sing: 

"My name is in the Book of Life; 

Oh, bless the name of Jesus! 
I rise above all doubts and strife. 

And read my title clear." 

As we wandered in the valley 
Ere our souls had found this rest, 

Thus we sung of holy Canaan, 
Heavenly state of love so blest: 

"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand 

And cast a wishful eye 
To Canaan's fair and happy land. 

Where my possessions lie." 

Now we've reached this happy Canaan, 

Blessed land of rest below! 
Thus we sing as on our journey 

To our heavenly home we go: 

"I've reached the land of corn and wine. 
And all its riches fully mine; 
Here shines undimmed one blissful day, 
For all my night has passed away." 

Oft we sang of holy Zion, 

Thinking it was heaven above. 

Ere the evening light was shining 
On the city that we love. 

"We're marching to Zion, 
Beautiful, beautiful Zion; 
We're marching upward to Zion, 
The beautiful city of God." 

But we're dwelling now in Zion, 

In the city of our God; 
As we sing, what waves of glory 

O'er our raptured spirits flood! 

"Wonderful, happy Zion! 

We stand on thy summit so free, 
'V\'Tiile joyfully singing, upward 

The ransomed are coming to thee." 

C. W. N'ATI,0«. 



346 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE MIRACLE OF CANA. 

The water-pots were filled at God's behest, 
Tet in the marriage wine no grape was 

pressed; 
No tired feet the weary wine-press trod 
To make this sacred vintage of our God; 
As nature doth proclaim a power divine, 
Each drop of moisture turned itself to wine. 

In spite of arguments, in Jesus met, 
The world is full of doubting- skeptics yet; 
Believing naught but they themselves have 

seen, 
They doubt the miracle of Palestine; 
They find the Holy Bible filled with flaws, 
And pin their doubting faith to nature's 

laws. 

Te scoffers of our sacred Lord, pray tell 
■Who tinted first the water in the well? 
"SVho painted atmospheric moisture blue. 
Or gave the ocean waves their constant 

hue. 
Whose moisture raised in clouds all colors 

lack, 
The fleecy ones co white, the storm-king's 

black. 

Save where the evening sun's bright rays 

incline 
To turn this fleecy moisture into wine. 
And lay a benediction on them all 
Like purple grapes hung on a golden wall? 
'Twas thus ou" Lord a sacred radiance shed, 
Slow turning Cana's water vintage red. 

If lilies at his bidding from the soil 
Spring up, that neither know to spin nor 

toil. 
In beauty yet more gorgeously arrayed 
Than he of old who that great temple made, 
Then why may not the gentle evening dew 
At God's command take on a ruddy hue? 

This whirling, surging world was made by 

one 
Wlio could have made the wine as rivers 
Yet put a sweeter nectar in the rills 
Fresh rippling from the vintage of the 

hills. 

Watch nature's miracle when day is dead. 
And blushing Helios, his good-night said. 
Slow dipping his hot face in cooling brine. 
Turns all the ocean billows into wine. 

The sun and rain stretch o'er the earth a 

bow 
With tints more beautiful than wine can 

show; 
A frescoed arch in gorgeous colors seven; 
A bridge, where weak belief may walk to 

heaven. 

Who hath not seen, at sunset on the plain, 
A passing storm-cloud dropping blood-red 

rain; 
A great libation poured at nature's shrine 
To fill Sol's golden cup with evening wine? 



Since nature doth such miracles perform, 
Why may not he, who makes and rules the 

storm, 
Of all his miracles the first and least. 
Tint a few drops for Cana's wedding-feast? 

The greatest marriage at the end shall be. 
When time is wedded to eternity; 
All bidden are, the greatest and the least. 
To taste the wine at heaven's great wed- 
ding-feast. 
Where all the ransomed universe shall 

sing: 
"Hosanna to the everlasting King!" 

Fred Emerson Bbooks. 



LIFE OR DEATH. 

There is a land for which the soul of man 
is longing, 
Where beauties rich and rare each day 
unfold; 
Where placid waters glide from eve till 
morning. 
And flowers uplift their chalices of gold. 

There is a home where music sweet, eter- 
nal 
Floats softly on the breeze, over hill and 
dell; 
Where none corrupt, deceitful, or infernal, 
Its long melodious cadences dispel. 

Man's heart is like the great shell of the 
ocean 
When cast upon a dark and lonely shore; 
Still in it may be heard the waves' com- 
motion — 
"Echoes of liome," resounding evermore. 

The soul of man shall live through endless 
ages: 
Unseared, it cries to God in midnight 
prayer; 
It speaks of hope beyond, through earthly 
sages. 
Of life and rest and peace in mansions 
fair. 

The lamp of hope still in the heart keeps 
burning, 
Tliough scarred by lust, though tempted 
far to roam; 
It still can hear that voice, can feel that 
yearning. 
Which calls the weary wanderer to its 
home. 

O God! forbid that hearts should keep on 

sleeping, 

Till heaven's door is shut and mercy past; 

Condemned with demons, sorrowful and 

weeping 

Go down to hell, to live while ages last. 

Then, life or death is ours today by 
choosing. 
We soon shall hear the trumpet's final 
blast. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



347 



Wliich is our choice? accepting or refus- 
ing? 
Heaven or hell will be our home at last. 
J. Grant Andebson. 



THE UNFRUITFUL TREE. 

In a vineyard well attended, three long 

years a fig-tree grew. 
Basking in the golden sunlight, watered by 

the rain and dew — 
Grew and spread its verdant branches with 

no seeming thought of care, 
Fitly cultured and protected by a vigilance 

most rare; 
For the chief vine-dresser labored, sparing 

neither toil nor pain. 
Doubtless thinking 'twould be recompense 

in years of fruitful gain. 
And, methinks, he looked with pleasure as 

he pruned it o'er and o'er. 
Hopeful that his constant favor be returned 

with increased store. 

Three long years he hoped and waited, and 

as yet no fruit beheld 
Though the tree was well attended and the 

soil so often tilled. 
From the nightfall until sunrise, sheltered 

from the tempest blast. 
W.ell he might have looked for fruitage 

from a tree so rarely blest. 
But one day in passing by it, paused with 

disappointed pain, 
Hope deferred, the Master questioned, 

should it longer still remain. 
Often pruned and gently nourished — only 

cumbering the ground: 
Should it longer bask and flourish? Jus- 
tice answered, "Cut it down." 

Then with words of tender pity, Mercy in- 
terposed a plea. 

Asking that one year be granted to the 
hapless, barren tree. 

"One more year," she interceded; "and the 
soil we'll dig and till"; 

And at Justice' frown she whispered: "It 
may yet perform his will. 

If a love so often slighted and a hope so 
long deferred, 

Can in one short year be righted and ap- 
pease the wounded Lord, 

We'll return at his permission (if his love 
will still forbear I, 

A complete and just fruition ere the clos- 
ing of the year." 

Meanwhile, stern with indignation, Justice 
stood with sword in hand, 

Mercy's tearful imposition seeming not to 
understand. 

In his voice there seemed an echo of a 
long withheld decree, 

Asking should a love so precious worth- 
lessly requited be. 

The neglect that grieved the Master and 
his disappointed rare. 



Justly forfeited the fig-tree place within 

his vineyard fair. 
But through patient interceding Just for 

one more favored year, 
Mercy's tender, earnest pleading stayed the 

wrath that lingered near. 

And the Master, though so wounded and his 

precepts disapproved, 
Still gave place within the vineyard to the 

tree he once had loved. 
Every dewdrop had its mission, every bud 

that blossomed there 
Paid him homage with fruition, budding 

with a fragrance rare. 
But those years though lost and fruitless, 

in compassion he erased, 
Gently stilled the voice of Justice and true 

harmony replaced. 
And those wounds though pained and 

broken plead forgiveness as of yore. 
Till from gratitude unspoken, Mercy wept, 

and asked no more. 

May this not, my precious reader, prove 

a lesson unto all. 
Moving us to zealous labor lest before the 

sword we fall? 
Some have stood so long protected many 

summers — more than three — 
With a slothfulness effected fruitless as 

the barren tree: 
Passed the peaceful, glowing hours in a 

fertile chosen spot, 
Where love's breezes fanned the bowers 

with a rich profusion fraught, 
W^lere the cedars throw their shadow over 

the cool refreshing stream. 
And the sunbeams rich and mellow rise and 

sink with golden gleam. 

Have our hearts so long been watered from 

the fount of grace divine? 
Ever when we shrank or faltered, lo, he 

held the nectared wine; 
The hand that bore the cruel nail-prints 

held the cup and bade us drink, 
xnien from many a painful night-watch 

seemed the soul would surely sink. 
Have we drunk the living water quite for- 
getful of the cost. 
Bringing neither gift nor labor to the one 

who loved us most? 
O'er the idlers in his vineyard has his 

bosom not been pained. 
For the sheaves we might have garnered 

or the gems we might have gained? 

O beloved, let us hasten, in return for all 

his care. 
Through the present year's probation some 

choice off'ring to prepare. 
Since within his chosen vineyard, we have 

long enjoyed a place. 
Could we meet him empty-handed and not 

weep before his face? 
Could we view again the nail-prints and the 

lovely, wounded brow, 
Pallid still from cruel thorn-marks borne 

for us so long ago, 



348 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And not bring some gift or trophy to lay 
down before his throne, 

If one missing jewel only from some fel- 
low-servant's crown? 

JENNIB Mast. 



SPEED AWAY. 

Speed away, speed away on thine errand of 
light. 

Sweet message of Christ, in thy radiant 
flight! 

The earth lies in darkness, the deep 
shadows fall 

On sad hearts and homes. Oh, speed at 
our call! 

Pierce the gathering clouds with thy lumi- 
nous ray: 

Speed away, speed away, speed away! 

Speed away, speed away on thine errand 

of love! 
Go speak to the mourners of mansions 

above ; 
To the doubting bring peace, to the weary 

sweet rest. 
To the homeless a glimpse of the home of 

the blest; 
Let angels and men Thy glad wonders 

portray: 
Speed away, speed away, speed away! 

Speed away, speed away! let the shout peal 
along. 

Triumphant in faith and melodious in song; 

Go. heralds of Jesus, the message proclaim; 

Christ liveth and reigneth- — go forth in 
his name: 

Up! onward! let nothing your mission de- 
lay; 

Speed away, speed away, speed away! 



BACK TO THE BLESSED OLD BIBLE. 

Back to the blessed old Bible; 

Back to the city of God; 
Back to the oneness of heaven; 

Back where tlie faithful have trod; 
Back from the land of confusion. 

Passing the wrecks and the creeds; 
Back to tae light of tlie morning: 

Jesus our captain leads. 

Back to the blessed old bible. 

Saints of Jehovah, rejoice; 
Jesus is calling nis people 

Back to the land of their choice. 
Often our fathers have sought it 

•Raiile we in Babel abode; 
Now we have found the fair city — 

Church of the living God. 

Back to the blessed old Bible, 
Leaving confusion and strife: 

Fleeing from Babel to Zion, 
Back to the joy of our life. 



Over the mountains we wandered. 

Looking in vain for the right; 
Now in the evening we've found it — 

Truth of the Gospel light. 

Back to the blessed old Bible; 

Back at the Master's call; 
Back to the words of our Savior, 

Loving, obeying them all; 
Never in sects to be scattered. 

Never again to do wrong: 
Unity, holiness, heaven. 

Ever shall be our song. 

D. O. Teaslky. 



RELIANCE ON GOD. 

If thou hast ever felt that all on earth 
Is transient and unstable, that the hopes 
Which man reposes on his brother man 
Are hut broken reeds; if thou hast seen 
That life itself "is but a vapor," sprung 
From time's upheaving ocean, decked, per- 
haps. 
With here and there a rainbow, but full 

soon 
To be dissolved and mingled with the vast 
And fathomless expanse that rolls its waves 
On every side around thee; if thy heart 
Has deeply felt all this, and thus has 

learned 
That earth has no security, then go 
And place thy trust in God. 

The bliss of earth 
Is transient as the colored light that beams 
In morning dew-drops. Yet a little while, 
And all that earth can show of majesty. 
Of strength, or loveliness, shall fade away 
Like vernal blossoms. From the conqueror's 

hand 
The scepter and the sword shall pass away; 
The mighty ones of earth shall lay them 

down 
In their low beds, and Death shall set his 

seal 
On Beauty's marble brow, and cold and 

pale, 
Bloomless and voiceless, shall the lovely 

ones. 
Go to the "congregation of the dead." 

Yea, more than tliis: the miglity rocks that 

lift 
Their solemn forms upon the mountain 

heights. 
Like time's proud citadels, to bear the 

storms 
And wrecks of i-ges — these, too, shall decay. 
And Desolation's icy hand shall wave 
O'er all that thou canst see; blot out the 

suns 
That shed their glory o'er uncounted worlds; 
Call in the distant comets from their wild 
And devious course, and bid them cease to 

move; 
And clothe the heavens in darkness. But 

the power 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



340 



Of God, his goodness, and uis grace, shall 

be 
Unchanged when all the worlds that he 

hath made 
Have ceased their revolutions. When the 

suns 
That burn in yonder sky have poured their 

last. 
Their dying glory o'er the remains of space, 
Still, God shall be the same — the same in 

love. 
In majesty, in mercy: then rely 
In faith on him, and thou shalt never find 
Hope disappointed or reliance vain. 



THE BLIND MAN S TESTIMONY. 

He stood before the Sanhedrin; 

The scowling rabbis gazed at him; 

He recked not of their praise or blame: 

There was no fear, there was no shame. 

For one upon whose dazzled eyes 

The whole world poured its vast surprise. 

The open heaven was far too near, 

His first day's light too sweet and clear. 

To let him waste his new-gained ken 

On the hate-clouded face of men. 

But still they questioned: "Who art thou? 

\Miat hast thou been? What art thou now? 

Thou art not he who yesterday 

Sat here and begged beside the way. 

For he was blind." 

"And I am he; 
For I was blind, but now I see." 

He told the story o'er and o'er; 
It was his full heart's only lore: 
A prophet on the Sabbath-day 
Had touched his sightless eyes with clay 
.\nd made him see who had been blind. 
Their words passed by him like the wind 
Which raves and howls, but can not shock 
The hundred-fathomed-rooted rock 
Their threats, their fury, all went wide; 
They could not touch his Hebrew pride; 
Their sneers at Jesus and Lis band. 
Nameless and homeless in the land. 
Their boasts of Moses and his Lord — 
All could not change him by one word. 

"I know not what this man may be. 
Sinner or saint: but, as for me. 
One thing I know — that I am he 
Who once was blind, and now I see." 

They all were doctors of renown, 
The great men of a famous town. 
With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, 
Beneath their wide phylacteries: 
The wisdom of the East was theirs. 
And honor crowned their silver hairs. 
The man they jeered and laughed to scorn 
Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born: 
But he knew better far than they 
What came to him that Sabbath-day: 
And what the Christ had done for him 
He knew, and not the Sanhedrin. 

John HAr, Secretary of State 
under President McKlnley. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

[Written after the close of the annual camp-meet- 
ing of the church of God held at Grand Junction, 
Mich., June 11-20, 1895, which was the last of 
those meetings the author ever attended, aa he died 
in December following.] 

Lo, they are gone: that armored host 

Whose feet have daily pressed 
These grounds have fled their several ways, 

And all is hushed to rest. 
But hark! the leaves upon the trees 

In echoes lisp their song. 
And on the wings of every breeze 

Salvation floats along. 

Oh, sacred ground! Oh, honored site! 

Behold, Jehovah's feet 
Have stood among us here, and light 

Eternal, pure, and sweet 
Has glittered from his sword of truth. 

And from his awful eyes 
Two fiery streams have issued forth, 

Revealing sin's disguise. 

No battle-field where armies stood 

In rank, with musketry, 
And garments dyed in human blood. 

Achieved such victory. 
Or turned a scale of destiny 

Of such momentous weight. 
Or ever reared a monument 

Of liberty so great. 

Not with the cannon's roar of death, 

Nor din of battle wild. 
But by the burning fuel of fire. 

Salvation won the field. 
'Twas not a crown of earthly state. 

Nor freedom's empty boast, 
But souls upon an awful brink, 

Called forth this mighty host. 

The thrones of earth must crumble down, 

AH nations fade away; 
Dominions of antiquity 

Can not abide for aye: 
But spirits captured here from sin, 

And marshaled with the free. 
Shall live and reign and sing and shine 

Through all eternity. 

But they are gone — those herilds strong; 

■Who stand within the sun. 
And all that army dressed in white 

To other fields have riin; 
And from this holy batHa-fleld 

New waves of glory roll, 
And these, in turn, will others wake, 

To spread from pole to pole. 

Amen! amen! let heaven shout. 

And earth break forth in song! 
A thousand camps, ten thousand groves. 

In every city throng-. 
Along the rivers, o'er the sea. 

In Jesus' mighty name. 
The present truth that set us free. 

To all aloud proclaim. 

Daniel S. Wabnbb. 



350 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



O LOVE DIVINE. 

O love divine! no soul has e'er 

Thy wondrous depths explored; 
O priceless gift! we fain would have 

Thy riches on us poured. 
Let mortals Join with all their might, 

Let earth and heaven both unite 
To sing thy praise by day and night; 

The half can ne'er be told. ' 

O love divine, what treasures yet 

Within thy coffers lie! 
The gold and silver of the earth 

Would not th5' riches buy. 
E'en though the sands upon the shore 

Of every sea sliould turn to ore 
Of choicest metal, 'twere no more 

Than naught compared to thee. 

O love divine, in thee our souls 

Eternal pleasures find. 
Surpassing all that earth could give, 

Were all its powers combined. 
Thy music sweet we love to sing. 

Our spirits ever to thee would cling; 
An offering now of praise we bring 

In humble sacrifice. 

U love divine, 'tis wonderful 

That mertals here below 
May share thy grace most excellent. 

Thy wondrous power know! 
Around our hearts forever entwine. 

And let thy beauties in us shine. 
That we may be. O love divine. 

Completely lost in thee. 

Clasa M. Bbooks. 



TAULER. 

Tauler, the preacher, walked one autumn 

day 
Without the walls of Strassburg by the 

Rhine, 
Pondering the solemn miracle of life; 
As one who, wandering in a starless night, 
Feels, momently, the Jar of unseen waves. 
And hears the thunder of an unknown sea 
Breaking along an unimagined shore. 

And as he walked he prayed, even the 

same 
Ola prayer with which, for half a score 

of years. 
Morning and noon and evening, lip and 

heart 
Had eroaned: "Have pity upon me. Lord! 
Thou seest, while teaching others. I am 

blind. 
Send me a man who can direct my steps!" 

Then, as he mused, he heard along his 

path 
A sound as of an old man's staff among 
The dry. dead linden-leaves; and, looking 

up. 
He saw a stranger, weak and poor and old 



"Peace be unto thee, father!" Tauler said; 
"God give thee a good day!" The old man 

raised 
Slowly his calm blue eyes. "I thank thee, 

son; 
But all my days are good and none are ill." 

Wondering thereat the preacher spake 

again: 
"God give thee bappy life." The old man 

smiled: 
"I never am unhappy." 

Tauler laid 
His hand upon the stranger's coarse gray 

sleeve: 
"Tell me. O father, what thy strange 

words mean. 
Surely man's days are evil, and his life 
Sad as the grave it leads to." "Nay, my 

son. 
Our times are in God's hands, and all our 

days 
Are as our needs; for shadow as for sun. 
For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike 
Our thanks are due, since that is best 

wliich is; 
And tliat which is not, sharing not liis life. 
Is evil only as devoid of good. 
And for the happiness of which I spake 
I find in it submission to Iiis will. 
And calm trust in the holy Trinity 
Of Knowledge, Goodness, and Almighty 

Power." 

Silently wondering, for a little space. 
Stood the great preacher; then he spake 

as one 
Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting 

thought 
Which long lias followed, whispering 

through the dark 
Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into 

light: 
"What if God's will consign thee hence to 

hell?" 

"Then," said the stranger, cheerily, "be 
it so. 
What hell may be I know not: this I know: 
I can not lose the presence of the Lord: 
One arm, humility, takes hold upon 
His dear humanity; the other, love. 
Clasps Ills divinity. So wliere I go 
He goes; and better fire-walled hell with 

him 
Than golden-gated paradise without." 

Tears sprang in Tauler's eyes. A sud- 
den light. 
Like the first ray which fell on chaos, clove 
Apart the shadow wlierein he had walked 
Darkly at noon; and as the strange old man 
Went his slow way, until his silver hair 
Set like the white moon where the hills 

of vine 
Slope to the Rhine, he bowed his head and 

said: 
"My prayer is answered. God hatli sent 
the man 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



351 



Long" sought, to teach me, uy Iiis simple 

trust. 
Wisdom the weary sclioolman never knew." 

So, entering- with a changed and cheer- 
ful step 
The city gates, he saw, far down the 

street, 
A mighty shadow break the light of noon, 
Which tracing backward till its airy lines 
Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his 

eyes 
O'er broad facade and lofty pediment, 
O'er arcliitrave and frieze and sainted 

niche. 
Up the stone lace-work chiseled by the 

wise 
Erwin of Steinbach, dizzily up to where 
In the noon-brightness the great Minster's 

tower. 
Jeweled with sunbeams on its mural crown. 
Rose like a visible prayer. "Behold!" he 

said, 
"The stranger's faith made plain before 

mine eyes. 
As yonder tower outstretches to the eartli 
The dark triangle of its shade alone 
When the clear day is shining on its top. 
So darkness in the pathway of man's life 
Is but the shadow of God's providence. 
By the great Sun of wisdom cast thereon: 
But what is dark below is light in heaven." 

,IOHN GBEE.NLEAP WhITTIEB. 



THE BLIND OLD MILTON. 

I am old and blind! 

Men point at me as smitten by God's 
frown, 
AfBicted and deserted of my kind; 

Yet I am not cast down. 

I am weak, yet strong; 

I murmur not that I no longer see; 
Poor, old, and helpless, I more belong. 

Father Supreme, to thee! 

merciful One! 

When men are farthest, then thou art 
most near; 
When friends pass by, my weakness shun, 
Thy chariot I hear. 

Thy glorious face 

Is leaning toward me, and its holy light 
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-placci 

And there is no more night. 

On my bended knee 

I recognize Thy purpose closely shown — • 
My vision Thou hast dimmed that I may see 

Thyself, Thyself alone. 

1 have naught to fear; 

This darkness is the shadow of thy wing; 
Beneath it I am almost sacred; here 
Can come no evil thing. 



Oh! I seem to stand 

Trembling where foot of mortal ne'er 
hath been, 
'Wrapped in the radiance of thy sinless 
land, 
^\'Tiich eye hath never seen. 

^'isions come and go: 

Shapes of resplendent beauty round me 
throng; 
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 

Of soft and holy song. 

it is notliing r.uw. 

When heaven is opening on my sightl-^ss 
eyes. 
When airs from paradise refresh my brow. 

That earth in darkness lies. 

In a purer clime. 

My being fills wtih rapture, waves of 
tliought 
Roll in upon my spirit, strains sublime 

Break over me unsought. 

Give me now my lyre! 

I feel the stirrings of a gift divine; 
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire. 

Lit by no will of mine. 

Elizabeth Lloyd Howell. 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

The wisdom of the world belongs to love, 
Its voice was heard in forming earth and 
sea: 
In every scented flower and cooing dove 
Is heard the chanting of elicit melody. 
On the darkest day of life we hear it sing- 
ing 
In the mansion or the cot beside the hill, 
Like the lilies of the valley ever springing 
Forth, the weary, saddened heart with 
joy to fill. 

O mighty element, thou love of God! 
Thou Shalt exist when Time has gone to 
sleep. 
Wlien earthly things on which our feet 
have trod 
Have passed, and hopes our hearts do 
keep 
Are realized, thou shalt endure. 

Bringing new joys, destroying every pain. 
Like as the great tides of the ocean 
Ebb and return unto the shore again. 

The love of God is great and wide and free; 

Eternally its nature is the same. 
All things which seem so wrapped in 
mystery 
Are unfolded in the naming of its name. 
Cloud after cloud may hide it from the 
world. 
The smoke of battle oft its beauty mar. 
But at last triumphant it will rise. 
To shine beyond the last dim distant 
star. 

J. Gbant Andebson. 



S52 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE MASTER S HEALING TOUCH. 

He touched ner hand, and the fever left her; 

Touched her hand as He only can — 
With the wondrous skill of the Great 
Physician, 

With the tender touch of the Son of man. 

The fever pain in the throbbing temples 
Died out with the flush on brow and 
cheek; 
The lips that had been so parched and 
burning 
Trembled with thanks she could not 
speak. 

The eyes where the fever ligtt had faded 
Looked up, by her grateful tears made 
dim. 
And she rose and ministered in her house- 
hold, 
She rose and ministered unto Him. 

He touched her hand, an J the fever left 
her; 
Oh! we need his touc.i on our fevered 
hands — - 
The still, cool touch of the Man of Sor- 
rows, 
Who knows us and loves us, and under- 
stands. 

So many a life is one long fever — 
A fever of restless suspense and care, 

A fever of getting, a fever of fretting, 
A fever of hurrying here and there. 

Oh! what if in winning the praises of 
others 
We should miss at last the King's "Well 
done"; 
If our self-wrought tasks in the Master's 
vineyard 
Yield nothing but leaves at the set of 
the sun? 

He touched her hand, and the fever left 
her; 
Oh, blessed touch of the Man Divine! 
So beautiful to rise and serve him 

When the fever is gone froi.i your life 
and mine. 

It may be a fever of restless serving. 
With heart all thirsty for love and praise, 

And eyes all aching and strained with 
yearnings 
Toward self-set goals in the future days 

Or it may be a fever of spirit anguish. 
Some tempest of sorrow that dies not 
down. 
Till the cross at last is in meekness lifted 
And the head bows low for the thorny 
crown. 

Or it may be fever of pain and anger. 
When the wounded spirit is hard to bear, 

And only the i-.ord can draw forth the 
arrows 
Left carelessly, cruelly, rankling there. 



Whatever the fever, his touch can heal it; 

Whatever the tempest, his voice can still; 
There is only joy as we do his pleasure. 

There is only rest as we choose his will. 

And some day after life's fitful fever 
I think we shall say in the home on high, 

"If the hands that lie touched but did his 
bidding. 
It matters little what else went by." 

Ah, Lord, thou knowest us altogether — 
Each heart's sore sickness whatever it 
may be: 
Touch thou our hands, bid the fever leave 
us; 
So shall we minister unto thee. 



GIVING AND LIVING. 

Forever the sun is pouring his gold 

On a hundred worlds that beg and bor- 
row; 
His warmth he squanders on summits cold. 
His wealth, on the homes of want and 
sorrow. 
To withhold his largess of precious light 
Is to bury himself in eternal night: 

To give is to live. 

Tlie flower shines not for itself at all; 

Its joy is the joy it freely diffuses; 
Of beauty and balm it is prodigal. 

And it lives in tlie life it sweetly loses. 
No choice for tlie rose but glory or doom — 
To exhale or smothe", to wither or bloom: 
To deny is to die. 

The seas lend silvery rain to the land. 
The land its sappliire streams to the 
ocean; 
The heart sends blood to the brain of com- 
mand. 
The brain to the heart its constant mo- 
tion; 
And over and over we yield our breath — 
Till the mirror is dry and images death: 
To live is to give. 

He is dead whose hand is not opened wide 

To help the need of sister or brother; 
He doubles the worth of his lifelong ride 
Who gives his fortunate place to an- 
other; 
Not one, but a thousand lives are his 
lATio carries the world in his sympathies: 
To deny is to die. 

Throw gold to the far-dispersing wave. 
And your ships sail home with tons of 
treasure; 
Care not for comfort, all hardships brave, 
And evening and age shall sup with 
pleasure: 
Fling health to the sunshine, wind, and 

rain. 
And roses shall come to the cheek again: 
To give is to live. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



353 



THE BABE OF BETHLEHEM. 

O age of harnessed force that never tires; 
Of steam and steel enslaved through end- 
less days: 
Of power electric, with thy thrilling^ wires 
And message wireless; when the subtlest 
rays 
Pierce the opaque; when in the farthest 
blaze 
Of heaven's stars the spectral lines re- 
veal 
Their chemical reagents; when man weighs 
The very ether; and when all is real — 
And there is neither time nur place for the 
ideal! 

Hath it less meaning now, the wondrous 
story 
Of Eastern Magi and the mystic star, 
The manger, and its infant King of glory. 

His birth divine thus heralded afar, 
The very gates of heaven left ajar, 

The chorus of the angels in the night. 
Startling the ears of shepherds, naught to 
mar 
Their song of "Peace on earth!" the 
heavens bedight 
With portents of a dawn of more than 
earthly light? 

The prophecies fulfilled, the marvels many 

That fill the picture in tlie Book of old 

And charm us with their wonder — is there 

any 

That we would part with in the story 

told? 

Doth it mean less in this new age unrolled. 

This age of rigid scientific test. 
That weighs each matter, and with judg- 
ment cold 
Rejects the miracle, and leaves the rest — 
Is it, then, but a tale for children's ears, 
at best? 

Then, be we children, all! Except ye be 

-■Vs little children — so the Master said — 
The heavenly kingdom ye shall never see. 

Like children be we willing to be led 
In simple faith and hope, nor be we wed 

To the vain worship of each earthly toy, 
Nor puffed with earthly knowledge, but in- 
stead. 

Turned to the Babe of Bethlehem, to joy 
Kindled by Christian love, deep, true, with- 
out alloy. 

O Star of Bethlehem, give us thy light! 

O angels, sing to us your heavenly strain! 
O shepherds, we, like you, are in the night, 
And we would join to echo the refrain, 
"Peace, peace on earth!" Abide with us, 
and reign 
In every heart. Shut out the dross of 
earth, 
That we may bring our tribute not in 
vain^ 
The offering that is of greatest worth — 
Hearts filled with love divine, to greet the 
Savior's birth! 

HUBEUT M. SkiNNEK. 



NEW YEAR S WISHES. 

Wliat shall I wisli thee? 

Treasures of earth? 
Songs in tlie springtime. 

Pleasure and mirth? 
Flowers on thy pathway, 

Skies ever clear? 
Would this insure thee 

A happy New-year? 

What shall I wish thee? 

What can be found 
Bringing thee sunshine 

All the year round? 
\\niere is tlie treasure, 

Lasting and dear. 
That shall insure thee 

A happy New-year? 

Faith that increaseth, 

■S\'alking in light; 
Hope that aboundeth, ' 

Happy and bright; 
Love that is perfect, 

Casting out fear; 
These shall insure thee 

A happy New-year. 

Peace in the Savior, 

Rest at his feet. 
Smile of his countenance 

Radiant and sweet, 
Joy in his presence, 

Christ ever near, — 
This will insure thee 

A happy New-year. 



A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF HELL. 

Awful night! black and dense the sable 

gloom. 
What groans and shrieks as from a living 

tomb! 
Living, can we to mortal mind unfold 
The mysteries those demon-spirits hold? 
Their fierce, unhallowed mockings rend the 

air; 
The atmosphere is laden with despair; 
The lightnings' glare illuminates tne scene 
■\Miere 'tween the dead and living hangs a 

screen; 
And at each transport to the darkened gostl 
The death-gong rings aloud, "Another 

soul." 
Then hell-born spirits raise a hissing cry. 
And mock the soul's ill-fated agony. 

Ill-fated! yes, what anguish, what despair. 
For those who slumber on nor breathe a 

prayer! 
Hope dissolved, the silken thread is riven, 
Gone life's day alone and unforgiven. 
They enter the impenetrable gloom. 
Imprisoned thus to never-ending doom. 
Oh, frightful scene! what horror! what ap- 
pall! 



35i 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Waking in this pandemonium-hall. 
Language would fail those horrors to de- 
scribe, 
Wliere sensual, wanton spirits lewdly bribe 
Tl'.eir hapless victim's unavailing cry, 
And tauntingly deride each stifled sigh 
For lost religion, and its claims disdain, 
Jehovah's love and holiness profane, 
At each bright recollection of the past. 
Wrangling, hideous demons stare aghast, 
Thundering forth some new-born blasphemy, 
Shaking with fear this trembling canopy, 
Upheavals then volcano-like are thrown — 
Smoke, flames, and vapor from the great 

unknown; 
Vesuvius alone can illustrate 
Gehenna's burning, fathomless estate. 

JBNMIB Mast. 



ETERNITY. 

Our inward feelings testify. 

With revelation from on high. 

That in this tenement of clay 

Dwells something that must live for aye; 

That on this brief expiring breath. 

Which metes our course from birth to 

death, 
Ifang matters of infinite weight, 
Yea, even our eternal fate. 
Life's game must win a crown of light, 
Or barter all to endless sight. 

Oh. awful, vast eternity! 
Where comes no change of destiny, 
Save that progression evermore — 
Through which the soul must higher soar 
And greater bliss and glory know. 
Or progress down to deeper woe — 
Which is a law in every soul. 
Worlds and suns may cease to roll; 
All the stars that tread the sky 
May complete their course and die; 
But ne'er shalt thou fill up thy age. 
And I, somewhere upon thy stage. 
Must move along upon the line 
My will elected here in time. 

What we have sown in life's career, 
With all its fruits, will yet appear; 
And reap we must, although the yield 
Be death itself: the cursed field 
Of thorns and tares we can't disown 
Before the Judge upon the throne. 
If to good or bad our sowing tend, 
Tile harvest ne'er shall have an end. 
Though pain and grief be all the crop. 
And black despair the bitter cup, 
Wlien once the bounds of time are past. 
The doom is sealed, the die is cast. 

O Lord, help me to count the cost 
Of time — a single moment — lost. 
A stitch in life's forever dropped; 
An opportunity has slipped 
And empty gone into the past, 
Nor on one bosom even cast 
One gentle, sweet beatitude. 



Oh, then engage my time, dear God! 

Give liglit and wisdom to reveal 

Thy will, and grace my heart to seal. 

All sacred unto thee alone. 

That I may witness at thy throne 

To all assembled worlds above 

The wonders of redeeming love. 

Daniei, S. Wabnb>. 



THE SOUL. 

Come, brother, turn with me from pining 

thought 
And all the inward ills tliat sin has 

wrought; 
Come, send abroad a love for all who live. 
And feel the deep content in turn they 

give. 
Kind wishes and good deeds — they make 

not poor; 
They'll home again, full laden, to th.v 

door; 
The streams of love flow back where they 

begin. 
For springs of outward joys lie deep 

within. 
Even let them flow, and make the places 

glad 
Wliere dwell thy fellow men. Shouldst 

thou be sad. 
And earth seem bare, and hours, once 

happy, press 
Upon thy tlioughts and make thy loneli- 
ness 
More lonely for the past, tliou then shalt 

hear 
Tlie music of those waters running near. 
And thy faint spirit drink the cooling 

stream. 
And tliine eye gladden with the playing 

beam 
That now upon the water dances, now 
Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough. 
Is it not lovely? Tell me, wliere doth dwell 
The power that wrought so beautiful a 

spell? 
In thine own bosom, brother? Then, as 

thine 
Guard with a reverent fear this power 

divine. 

And if, indeed, 'tis not the outward state. 
But tempter of the soul by which we rate 
Sadness or Joy, even let thy bosom move 
With noble thouglits and wake tliee into 

love; 
And let eacli feeling in thy breast be given 
An honest aim, which, sanctified by 

Heaven, 
And, springing into act, new life imparts. 
Till beats thy frame as with a thousand 

hearts. 
Sin clouds the mind's clear vision; 
Around the self-starved soul has spread a 

dearth. 
The earth is full of life; the living Hand 
Touched it with life; and all its forms ex- 
pand 
Witli principles of being made to suit 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



355 



Man's varied powers and raise liim from 

the brute. 
And shall the earth of higher ends be full — 
Earth which thou treadest — and thy poor 

mind be dull? 
Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep? 
Thou "living dead man," let thy spirit 

leap 
Forth to the day, and let the fresh air 

blow 
Through thy soul's shut-up mansion. 

W'ouldst thou know 
Something: of what is life, shake off this 

death ; 
Have thy soul feel the universal breatli 
With which all nature's quick, and learn t,) 

ba 
Sharer in all that thou dost touch or see; 
Break from thy body's grasp, thy spirit's 

trance; 
Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse; 
Love, joy, even sorrow — yield thyself to 

all! 
They make thy freedom, groveler, not thy 

thrall. 
Knock off the shackles which thy spirit 

bind 
To dust and sense, and set at large the 

mind! 
Then move in sympathy with God's great 

whole. 
And be like man at first — a living soul. 
Richard Hexry Dana. 



OUR FATHERS. 

Our fathers — where are they, the faithful 

and wise? 
They are gone to their mansions prepared 

in the skies; 
With the ransomed in glory forever they 

sing, 
"All worthy the j^amb, our Redeemer and 

King." 

Our fathers — who were they? Men strong 

in the Lord, 
Who were nurtured and fed with the milk 

of the Word; 
Who breathed in the freedom their Savior 

had given, 
And fearlessly waved their blue banner to 

heaven. 

Our fathers — how lived they? In fasting 

and prayer 
Still grateful for blessings, and willing to 

share 
Their bread with the hungry — their basket 

and store — 
Their home with the homeless that came 

to their door. 

Our fathers — where knelt they? Upon the 
green sod. 

And poured out their hearts to their cove- 
nant God; 



And oft in the deep glen, beneath the wild 

sky, 
The songs of their Zion were wafted on 

high. 

Our fathers — how dieu they? They valiantly 

stood 
The rage of the foeman, and sealed with 

their blood. 
By "faithful contendings," the faith of their 

sires. 
Mid tortures, in prisons, on scaffolds, in 

fires. 

Our fathers — where sleep they? Go search 

the wide cairn. 
Where the birds of the hill make their nests 

in the fern; 
Where the dark purple heather and bonny 

blue bell 
Deck the mountain and moor, where our 

forefathers fell. 



THE PREACHER S VACATION. 

The old man went to meetin'. 

For the day was bright and fair; 
Though his step was slow and totterln", 

And 'twas hard to travel there; 
But he hungered lor the gospel; 

So he trudged the weary way, 
On the road so hot and dusty, 

'Neath the sun's hot, burning ray. 

By and by he reached the building. 

To his soul a holy place; 
Then he paused and wiped the sweat-drops 

From off his wrinkled face; 
But he looked around bewildered. 

For the old bell did not toll. 
And tl>e doors were shut and bolted, 

And he did not see a soul. 

So he leaned upon his pilgrim staff. 

And said, "What does it mean?" 
And he looked this and that way, 

Till it seemed to him a dream. 
He had walked the dusty highway 

(And he breathed a heavy sigh), 
"Just to go once more to meetin'," 

Ere the summons came to die. 

Soon he saw a little notice 

Tacked up on the meetin' door; 
So he limped along to read It, 

And he read it o'er and o'er. 
Then he wiped ids dusty glasses, 

And he read it o'er again, 
Till his lips began to tremble 

And his eyes were full of pain. 

As the old man read the notice, 

How it made his spirit burn! 
"Pastor absent on vacation. 

Church is closed till his return." 
Then he staggered slowly backward, 

And sat him down to think. 
For his soul was stirred within him. 

Till he thought his heart would sink. 



356 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



So he moved along and wondered; 

To himself soliloquized: 
"I have lived till almost eighty, 

And was never so surprised. 
I have read the oddest notice 

Stuck upon the meetin' door: 
'Pastor absent on vacation' — • 

Never heard the like before! 

"Why, when I first joined the meetin'. 

Very many years ago, 
Preachers traveled on the circuit, 

In the lieat and thro' the snow; 
If they got clothes and victuals, 

'Twas but little cash they got; 
They said nothing 'bout vacation. 

But were happy in their lot. 

"Would the farmer leave his cattle. 

Or the shepherd leave his sheep? 
Who would give them care or shelter. 

Or provide them food to eat? 
So it strikes me very sing'lar, 

"VAHien a man of holy hands 
Thinks he needs to have vacation, 

And forsake his tender Iambs. 

"Did Saint Paul get such a notion? 

Did a Wesley or a Knox? 
Did they in the heat of summer 

Turn from their needy flocks.' 
Did they shut up their meetin'. 

Just to go and lounge about? 
Why, surely then, if this they did, 

Satan would raise a shout. 

"Do the taverns close their doors 

Just to take a little rest? 
"VVliy, 'twould be the height of folly. 

For their trade would be distressed. 
Did you ever know it happen. 

Or hear anybody tell, 
'Satan absent on vacation' — 

And closed the doors of hell? 

"And shall preachers of the gospel 

Pack their trunks and .go away, 
Leaving saints and dying sinners 

To get along as best they may? 
Are the souls of saints and sinners 

Valued less than selling beer? 
Or do preachers tire quicker 

Than the rest of mortals here? 

"Why it is I can not answer. 

But my feelings, they are stirred. 
Here I've dragged my tottering footsteps 

To hear the gospel word; 
But the preacher is atravelin'. 

And the meetin'-house is closed. 
I confess it's very tryin' — 

Hard to keep composed. 

"Tell me, when I tread the valley 

And go up the shinin' heights, 
Will I hear no angels singin'? 

Will I see no gleamin' lights? 
Will the golden harps be silent? 

Will I meet no welcome there? 
Why, the thought is most distressin"; 

'Twould be more than I could bear. 



"Tell me, when I reach the city 

Over on the otlier shore. 
Will I find a little notice 

Tacked up on the golden door? 
Telling me, mid dreadful silence. 

Writ in words that cut and burn: 
'Jesus absent on vacation. 

Heaven closed till his return.' " 



BLESSED IS THE MAN WHOM THOU 
CHASTENETH. 

Savior, whose mercy, severe in its kind- 

ness. 
Has chastened my wanderings and guided 
my way. 
Adored be the power which illumined my 
blindness 
And weaned me from phantoms that 
smiled to betray. 

Enchanted with all that was dazzling and 
fair, 
I followed the rainbow, I caught at the 
toy; 
And still in displeasures, thy goodness was 
there. 
Disappointing the hope and defeating the 
joy. 

The blossom blushed bright, but a worm 
was below; 
The moonlight shone fair^there was 
blight in the beam; 
Sweet whispered the breeze, but it whis- 
pered of woe; 
And bitterness flowed in the soft-flowing 
stream. 

So cured of my folly, yet cured but in 
part, 
I turned to the refuge thy pity dis- 
played; 
And still did this eager and credulous heart 
Weave visions of promise that bloomed 
but to fade. 

1 thought that the course of the pilgrim 

to heaven 
Would be bright as the summer and 
glad as tlie morn; 
Thou show'dst me the path — it was dark 
and uneven, 
All rugged with rock, and all tangled 
with thorn. 

I dreamed of celestial reward and renown; 
I grasped at the triumph which blesses 
the brave; 
I asked for the palm-branch, the robe, and 
the crown; 
I asked — and thou show'dst me a cross 
and a grave. 

Subdued and instructed, at length to thy 
will 
My hopes and my longings I fain would 
resign: 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



357 



Oh, siv'e me the heart that can wait and 
be still, 
Nor know of a wish nor a pleasure but 
thine! 

There are mansions exempted from sorrow 
and woe, 
But they stand in a regrion by mortals 
untrod: 
There are rivers of joy. but they roll not 
below; 
There is rest, but it dwells in the pres- 
ence of God 

SIB Robot Gbant. 



WHAT I WOULD ASK FOR THEE. 

If the treasures of ocean were laid at my 
feet. 
Aid its depths were all robbed of its 
coral and pearl. 
And the diamonds were brought from the 
mountain's retreat. 
And with them were placed all the wealth 
of the world — - 
Not silver, nor gold, nor the spoils of the 
sea. 
Nor the garlands of fame that the world 
can bestow, 
But a purified heart that from sin is made 
free. 
I would i-sk for thee, friend, on thy 
journey below. 

James Abram Garfield. 
Himm, Obio, Jan. 8. 1857. 



THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

I saw a man of God-like form 

Bend like a .^lender reed 
Before a .sudden summer siorm 

\ girl woulci scarcely heed. 
I saw a frail and tender child 

Perform a hero's part. 
And face a wolf with hunger wild 

And strike him to the heart. 

'"What is this mystic force?" I cried. 

"The secret of this power? 
■WTiat makes this youth, so free from pride. 

The monarch of the hour?" 
The answer came in trumpet tone: 

"Mysterious are His ways: 
In weakness is His glory shown. 

And babes proclaim His praise. 

"■RHien to the first disciples' hearts 

The Holy Spirit came. 
It thrilled them to the lowest parts. 

Through heart and soul and frame. 
They who were wont with craven souls 

In secret nooks to hide — 
Hark, from their lips what thunder rolls 

For Jesus crucified! 

"Thus is it yet. ay. even now. 

That souls are sanctified; 
The tender air, the lighted brow. 

No humble garb can hide. 



Gods Spirit makes the weakest strong. 

The coward true and brave. 
And bears his chosen ones along, 

Triumphant o'er the grave." 

Mrs. Hawosis. 



A SUNDAY MORNING. 

Sweet morn, so peaceful, calm, and bright. 
Escaping from the shadowy night. 
Thy golden locks with dew are wet. 
Shed on them since tlie sun was set; 
In trailing robes of silvery gray. 
Silently througa my room you stray. 
Chasing my pleasant dreams away; 
Across my window you softly steal. 
Tour hand upon my brow I feel. 
Inviting me to rise and kneel. 
Give praise to Him, who makes the light 
And separates it from the night. 

First there appears cold streaks of gray. 
Lengthening to tlie milky way. 
Then faster growing, reach the west 
And perch upon the woodland crest. 
The cock's loud call, the herd's dull tread. 
Disturbs the sluggard in his bed; 
The minstrels in the leafy wood. 
With song express tlieir gratitude; 
The moon mid nature's grateful hymn. 
Begins her lamp of night to dim; 
The morning star, day's herald true, 
Smiles sweet on me her fond adieu. 
The smaller lights take one last peep. 
Like baby ere he goes to sleep; 
The fleecy cloud goes floating by. 
Like seraphim bej-ond the sky; 
The murmur low of gentle breeze, 
Ruflling the leaves on forest trees. 
In plaintive tones so soft and light. 
Chants a requiem to the night. 

O morn, so full of calm repose! 
Like the fair morn when Christ arose. 
When Marys two along the wa.v 
(Before the streaking of the gray. 
Bright messengers of dawning day). 
Asked who should roll the stone away 
From the darksome tomb wherein he lay. 
The odor of the spices rare. 
Sweetly scented the morning fair 
And lingers still upon the air. 

Uh, happy resurrection morn. 
When victory o'er the grave was won. 
Death's awfu! sting forever gone! 
I'rcni out the tomb of fearful ni.slit 
My soul has made its happy flight. 
On wings of joy my voice I raise, 
And join sweet nature in her praise. 
O God, thy victories I extol 
With all the freedom of my soul! 
O Christ the trophies of the grave. 
O'er all the world I'd gladly wave. 
Lift up the mighty One to save! 
I'll work and wait the day to rise. 
And with my Lord transcend the skies. 
In rosy cloud, to fairer dawn 
Than ever I on earth have known. 

Charles E. Obs. 



358 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



MY OLD BIBLE. 

Though the cover is worn, 

And the pages are torn, 
And though places bear traces of tears; 

Yet more precious than gold 

Is the Boole, worn and old. 
That can shatter and scatter my fears. 

This old Book is my guide; 

'Tis a friend by my side; 
It will lighten and brighten my way; 

And each promise I find 

Soothes and gladdens my mind 
As I read it and heed it today. 

To this Book I will cling. 

Of its worth I will sing. 
Though great losses and crosses be mine 

For I can not despair. 

Though surrounded by care, 
While possessing this blessing Divine. 

Edmund Pillifant. 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 

Sunlight upon Judea's hills. 

And on the waves of Galilee, 
On Jordan s stream, and on the rills 

That feed the dead and sleeping sea; 
Most freshly from the green wood springs 
The lig!!t breeze on its scented wings; 
The gayly quiver in the sun 
The cedar-tops of Lebanon. 

A few more hours — a change hath comel 

The .sky is dark without a cloud. 
The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb. 

And proud knees unto eartli are bowed 
A change is on the hill of death. 
The helaied watcliers pant for breath, 
.rt.nd turn with wild and maniac eyes 
From the dark scene of sacrifice. 

That Sacrifice! — the death of Him, 

The high and ever holy One! 
Well may the conscious heaven grow dim 

And blacken the beholding sun! 
The wonted light hath fled away, 
Night settles on the middle day, 
And Karthqnake from his caverned bed 
Is waking with a thrill of dread. 

The dead are waking underneath! 

Their prison door is rent away! 
And, ghastly with the seal of death, 

They wander in the eye of day! 
The temple of the cherubim. 
The house of God is cold and dim; 
A curse IS on its trembling walls; 
Its mi.?hty veil asunder falls! 

Well may the cavern-depths of earth 
Be shaken, and her mountains nod! 

Well may the sheeted dead come forth 
To gaze upon a suffering God! 

Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, 

And shadows veil the cherubim. 



When He, the chosen one of heaven, 
A sacrifice for guilt is given! 

And shall the sinful heart alone 

Behold unmoved the atoning hour. 
When Nature trembles on her throne 
And Death resigns his iron power? 
Oh! shall the heart — whose sinfuJness 
Gave keenness to his sore distress. 
And added to his tears of blood — 
Refuse its trembling gratitude? 

John Greenleaf Whittieb. 



JOHN, THE BELOVED. 

I'm growing very old. This weary head 
That hath so often leaned on Jesus' breast 
In days long past that seem almost a dream 
Is bent and hoary with its weight of years. 
These limbs that followed him — my Master 

—oft 
From Galilee to Judah, yea, that stood 
Beneath the cross, and trembled with his 

groans. 
Refuse to bear me even through the streets 
To preach unto my children. E'en my lips 
Refuse to form the words my heart sends 

forth. 
My ears are dull; they scarcely hear the 

sobs 
Of my dear children gathered round my 

couch. 
God lays his hand upon me — yea his hand, 
And not his rod — the gentle hand that I 
Felt, those three years, so often pressed 

in mine 
In friendship such as passeth woman's love. 

I'm old — so old I can not recollect 
The faces of my friends, and I forget 
The words and deeds that make up daily 

life; 
But that dear face and every word he spoke 
Grow more distinct as others fade away, 
So that I live with him and holy dead 
More than with the living. 

Some seventy years ago 
I was a fisher by the sacred sea. 
It was at sunset. How the tranquil tide 
Bathed dreamily the pebbles! How the 

light 
Crept up the distant hills, and in its wake 
Soft, purple shadows wrapped the dewy 

fields! 
And then he came and called me. Then I 

gazed. 
For the first time, on that sweet face. 

Tiiose eyes, 
From out of which, as from a window, 

shone 
Divinity, looked on my inmost soul 
And lighted it forever. Then his words 
Broke on the silence of my heart and made 
The whole world musical. Incarnate love 
Took hold of me and claimed me for its 

own. 
I followed in the twilight, holding fast his 

mantle. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



359 



Oh, what holy walks we had 
Through harvest-fields and desolate, dreary 

wastes! 
And oftentimes he leaned upon my arm, 
Wearied and wayworn. I was young and 

strong. 
And so upbore hira. Lord, now I am weak 
And old and feeble! Let me rest on thee! 
So put thine arm around me. Closer still! 
How strong thou art! The twilight draws 

apace, 
Come let us leave these noisy streets and 

take 
The path to Bethany; for Mary's smile 
Awaits us at the gate, and Martha's hands 
Have long prepared the cheerful evenin.g 

meal. 
Come, James, the Master waits; and Peter, 

see, 
Has gone some steps before. 

What say you, friends? 
That this is Ephesus, and Christ has gone 
Back to his kingdom? Ay, 'tis so, 'tis so. 
I know it all, and yet just now I seemed 
To stand once more upon my native hills. 
And touch my Master. Oh, how oft I've 

seen 
The touching of his garments bring back 

strength 
To palsied limbs! I feel it has to mine. 
Up! bear me once more to my church! 

Once more 
There let me tell them of a Savior's love; 
For, by the sweetness of my Master's voice 
Just now, I think he must be very near — 
Coming, I trust, to break the veil, which 

time 
Has worn so thin that I can see beyond, 
And watch his footsteps. 

So raise my head. 
How dark it is: I can not seem to see 
The faces of my flock. Is that the sea 
That murmurs so, or is it weeping? Hush, 
My little children! God so loved the world 
He gave his Son. So love ye one another. 
Love God and man. Amen. Now bear me 

back. 
My legacy unto an angry world is this, 
I feel my work is finished. Are the streets 

so full? 
What call the folk my name — the holy 

John? 
Nay, write me rather, Jesus Christ's be- 
loved. 
And lover of my children. 

Lay me down 

Once more upon my couch, and open wide 

The eastern window. See, here comes a 
light 

Like that which broke upon my soul at eve 

Wlien, in the dreary Isle of Patmos, Gab- 
riel came 

And touched me on the shoulder. See, it 
grows 

As when we mounted toward the pearlv 
gates. 

I know the way! I trod it once before. 



And hark! It is tlie song the ransomed 

sang 
Of glory to the Lamb! How loud it sounds! 
And that unwritten one! Methinks my soul 
Can join it now. O my Lord, my Lord! 
How bright thou art! and yet the very 

same 
I loved in Galilee. 'Tis worthy the hundred 

years 
To feel this bliss! So lift me up, dear Lord, 
Unto thy bosom. There shall I abide. 



THE CHRIST-CHILD. 

Over the crowded Judean town 
The shadows of night gloomed darkly down; 
"No room in the inn," the only place 
For the weary girl with fair, young face 
Was a bed of straw mid wondering kine, 
Wliere was born, that day, your Lord and 
mine. 

No sheltered spot, but a stable bare. 
Yet the Lord of light was cradled there; 
While a mother, with all a mother's charms, 
Enfolded him close in loving arms, 
And the days that came were passing sweet 
For the halting tread of her baby's feet. 

1 think of the wondrous, shining star; 
I think of the Magi from afar. 
Adoring shepherds, the angel host — 
Thoughts blessed are these — but always 

most. 
With willing heart, I think of the Child, 
And hail my Lord in the Undefiled. 

Oh, my soul grows warm for his dear sake. 
And hope burns bright, and I bid him make 
Of me his herald, to bear his word 
Till all men everywhere have heard; 
For now the heavenly host again 
Sings, "Peace on earth; good will to men." 

I want God's peace for the troubled heart, 
I want God's will in the busy mart, 
I want God's love to girdle the earth; 
For 'tis the time of the Christ-child's birth; 
And the olive-branch in his baby hand 
He raises to bless a waiting land. 

We have in our midst the little child; 
We have the poor and the sin-defiled. 
The wretched, the sick, and the lonely 

ones. 
Who have known the rise of brighter suns: 
Comfort and cheer will come to your heart 
If of your Christmas these have a part. 

With gladness we welcome Christmas day; 
We give our gifts and our hearts are gay; 
But ever there comes the tender thought 
Of him by whom all good is wrou.ght. 
Old Israel's God, the Holy One, 
Wlio gave to the world his only Son. 

And ever there comes amid the cheer. 
Dear thoughts of those no longer here — 



360 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"Gone on before" — and a minor strain 
Striltes cliill on tlie lieart witli dull refrain; 
But the Christ-cliild wipes all tears away; 
Nor sorrow nor sighing on Christmas day. 

So the children play with fitting glee 
(Not yet the tliought of Calvary); 
Earth shows her wrinkled old face aglow, 
And the sunbeams dance across the snow; 
Deep in my lieart it is Christmas time, 
And I hear a distant merry chime— 

And I hear afar a joyful sound, 
And I see a great light shine around, 
While a woman young and fair of face. 
Enfolds her Son in fast embrace: 
In a stable bare, mid wondering kine. 
Is born this day your Lord and mine. 
Cora Walkeb Hayes. 



GODS DWELLING-PLACE. 

'Tis not in temples made with hands 

Midst surging, heaving tides of life, 
Nor Alpine snows, nor burning sands. 

Nor haunts of men where sin is rife: 
Not forests' sacred, awful .gloom, 

Nor pleasant, joyous, happy dells — 
Not here the rest, the mystic home. 

Not here the place God dwells. 

Not height nor depth exclusive holds 

The presence of the "lofty One": 
His arm of power worlds enfolds, 

His mighty deeds in love are done: 
The counter-current forces rise. 

With which old Ocean's bosom swells — 
Beneath, within, his treasure lies — 

Not here the place God dwells. 

The heaven his throne, his footstool earth. 

His habitude eternity. 
Also with him divine of birth 
Who is clothed with deep humility. 
The air, the earth, the solemn main. 

Creative wisdom plainly tell. 
And all his sovereign right proclaim — 

'Tis here that God doth dwell. 

Anna K. Thomas. 



THE NUN S LAMENT. 

This is no heaven! 

And yet they told me that all heaven was 

here. 
This life the foretaste of a life more 

dear; 
That all beyond this convent-cell 
Was but a fairer hell: 
That all was ecstasy and song within; 
That all without was tempest, gloom, 

and sin. 
Ah me. it is not so! 

This is not rest! 

And yet they told me that all rest was 

here. 
Within these walls the medicine and the 

cheer 



For broken hearts; that all witliout 
Was trembling, weariness, and doubt; 
This, the sure ark whicli tloats above the 

wave. 
Strong in life's flood to shelter and to 

save: 
This the still mountain-lake. 
Which winds can never shake. 
Ah me, it is not so: 
This is not rest, I know. 

This is not light! 

And yet they told me that all light was 

here. 
Light of the holier sphere: 
That, through this lattice seen. 
Clearer and more serene. 
The clear stars ever shone. 
Shining for me alone; 
And the bright moon more bright, 
Seen in the lone blue night 
By ever-watching eyes. 
The sun of convent-skies. 
Ah me! it is not so! 
This is not light, I know. 

This is not love! 

And yet they told me that all love was 

here, 
Sweetening the silent atmosphere: 
All green, without a faded leaf; 
All smooth, w-ithout a fret, a cross, or 

grief. 
Yet calm as autumn's softest day; 
No balm like convent-air. 
No hues of Paradise so fair; 
A jealous, peevish, hating world beyond: 
Within, love's loveliest bond; 
Envy and discord in the haunts of men; 
Here, Eden's harmony again. 
Ah me, it is not so! 
Here is no love, I know. 

This is not home! 

And yet for this I left my girlhood's 
bower. 

Shook the fresh dew from April's bud- 
ding flower. 

Cut off my golden hair. 

And fled, as from a serpent's eyes. 

Home and its holiest charities . . . 

As if these common rounds of work ana 
love 

Were drags to one whose spirit soared 
above . . . 

Yet 'tis not the hard bed nor lattice small 

Nor the dull damp of this cold convent 
wall: 

'Tis not the frost on these thick prison- 
bars 

Nor the keen shiver of these wintry 
stars: 

Not this coarse raiment nor this coarser 
food 

Nor bloodless lip of withering woman- 
hood — ■ 

'Tis not all these that make me sigh and 
fret; 

'Tis something deeper yet — 

The unutterable voiei within; 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



361 



The dark, fierce warfare with this heart 

of sin; 
The inner bondage, fever, storm, and 

woe; 
The hopeless confl.ct with my hellish foe, 
'Gainst whom this grated lattice is no 

shield. 
To whom this cell is victory's chosen 

field. . . . 
And I have fled, my God, from thee, 
From thy glad love and liberty. 
And left the road where blessings fall 

like light, 
For self-made by-paths shaded over with 

night? 
Oh, lead me back, my God, 
To the forsaken road, 
Life's common beat, that there. 
E'en in the midst of toil and care, 
I may find thee, 
And in thy love oe free! 

HOBATIUS BONAR. 



HIS MAJESTY. 

Men don't believe in the devil now, 

As their fathers used to do; 
They have forced the door of the broadest 
creed 

To let his majesty through. 
There is not a print of his cloven hoof 

Or fiery dart from his bow 
To be found in earth or air today. 

For men have voted so. 

But who is mixing the fatal draught 

That palsies heart and brain, 
And loads the bier of each passing year 

With an Hundred thousand slain? 
Who blights the bloom of the land today 

With the fiery breath of hell. 
It the devil isn't and never was? 

Won't somebody rise and tell? 

Who dogs the steps of the toiling saint, 

And digs a pit for his feet? 
Who sows the tares in the field of time 

Wherever God sows his wheat? 
The devil is voted not to be, 

And of course the thing is true; 
But who is doing the kind of work 

The devil alone should do? 

We are toU he does not go about 

Like a roaring lion now. 
But whom shall we hold responsible 

For the everlasting row 
To be heard in home, in church, and state. 

To earth's remotest bound. 
If the devil by unanimous vote 

Is nowhere to be found? 

Won't somebody step to the front fortii- 
with 
And make his oow and show 
How the frauds and crimes of one sliovt 
day 



Spring up? We want to know. 
The devil was fairly voted out. 

And, of course, the devil's gone; 
But simple people would like to know 

Who carries his business on. 



STAR POINTS. 

God's ways are not like human ways: 

He wears such strange disguises; 
He tries us by his long delays, 

And then our faith surprises; 
'\\Tiile we in unbelief deplore, 

And wonder at his staying. 
He stands already at the door 

To interrupt our praying. 



AN ENGLISH STUDENT S EXPERI- 
ENCE. 

I sat in my room on a winter's day 
W^atching the fire as it smoldering lay. 
Scarce heeding the time as it flew away. 

When the little maid entered the room, 
Who had been hired for a pittance small 
To clean the stairs and rooms and hall — 
No light task going over them all 

With dusting-cloth and broom 

As she was bent at her humble task, 
It seemed that a hand removed a mask 
From before my face, and I turned to ask 

Why she was so thinly clad. 
A little shiver bespoke her need: 
My spirits feel like a broken reed; 
I saw in a mirror my selfisli greed 

As she said it was all she had. 

Discordant notes had struck the lute: 
For a little space my lips were mute 
As I looked down at my costly suit 

And then at her thin attire. 
An expensive picture adorned my wall. 
Which I had brought from the artist's hall; 
As the money came, I spent it all 

For something to admire. 

Could I calmly sit in my easy chair, 

I who professed his name to bear, 

And squander the talents he put in my care 

To spend for another's good? 
The velvet carpet could I bear to see 
At the cost of Christian charity: 
Such were the questions put to me, 

And I defenseless stood. 

The room I had decked with esthetic taste 
Now looked to me like wanton waste. 
But the problem at hand I boldly faced; 

A crisis it was to me. 
Tlie clarion note that my ear had caught. 
The blessed lesson the Master taught, 
The noble work his hand had wrought, 

Was wrought for eternity. 

Mattih gergen. 



362 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



A MESSAGE OF LOVE. 

I am only a little poem, 

Five minutes will read me through, 
But I come in the name of Jesus 

With a message of love to you. 
You may not see how you can spare the 
time 

My few short lines to trace; 
But if never again till the judgment-day, 

There I'll meet you face to face. 

As on life's rapid transit line 

You are nearing some fancied goal. 
Have you ever stopped to soliloquize 

About your immortal soul? 
Do you know that somewhere your jour- 
ney will end? 

Does your conscience ever tell 
That when time shall end, your endless life 

Is to be spent in heaven or hell? 

Do you know when your life of sin is done 

And you before God are posed, 
That your being will tremble with dread- 
ful awe 

With all of your wrongs disclosed? 
And then while you wait your just reward, 

With all opportunities past. 
You will look to the prize which might 
have been yours. 

And say. "I have missed it at last!" 

Then, what are you doing to save yo'ir 
soul ' 
Is your life too busy to spare 
From your pleasures and toil and greed for 
gain 
One moment a day in prayer? 
Do you know that the perishing things of 
life. 
Wliich you selfishly call your own. 
Will not attract your attention much 
When you stand at the judgment-throne? 

Will you toll and struggle from day to day 

Till you draw your latest breath. 
And never consider the awful change 

That will come to you in your death? 
Will you strive for knowledge or worldly 
fame, 

No matter how much they cost. 
Yet in the end, with all you know, 

Be foolish enough to be lost? 

Do you know that except you repent of your 
sins 

And have every one forgiven, 
And walk in holiness here below. 

You can never enter heaven? 
A mere profession or joining some church 

Will not meet the demands of your soul. 
But Christ alone through his precious blood 

Can cleanse and keep you whole. 

Tliey tell us the world has better grown, 
And we live in a Christian land. 

And churches to suit most any one's taste 
Are found on every hand: 

But when we behold the discord and fuss 



That exists among those who profess, 
We conclude that something is out of fix 
With their so-called righteousness. 

The inundation of worldly schemes 

And of clerical opulence 
Have smothered out the fires of truth 

And of spiritual innocence. 
The days of shouting and prayer and praise, 

With many, are things of the past. 
And God only knows what is yet to come 

Ere we hear the trumpet's blast. 

Joy and singing and Christian love 

Were our lathers' happy lot; 
Now with salaried preachers and rented 
pews 
They worship they know not what. 
Once hymns were sung from peaceful 
hearts. 
Now by choirs of modern lore; 
Wliile the voice of the bride and bride- 
groom 
Are heard in their chamber no more. 

Yet standing aloof from this clashing of 
creeds 

Are a people who dare to be true, 
And carry out tlie commands of God 

Just as he told them to. 
They join no church that man has made. 

But follow the highway trod 
By the prophets, apostles, and Christ, their 
head, 

And belong to the church of God. 

The dazzling gifts of the early church 

Are ours by right today; 
No man can truly say that one 

Was ever done away. 
The blood of Christ does still atone 

And every need supplies: 
It heals our bodies when they are sick; 

It saves and sanctifies. 



FOLLOWERS OF THEM. 

Heb. 0: 12. 

Daniel's wisdom may I know, 
Stephen's faith and spirit show; 
John's divine communion feel, 
Moses' meekness, Joshua's zeal; 

Run like the unwearied Paul. 

Win the day and conquer all. 

Mary's love may I possess, 
Lydia's tender-heartedness; 
Peter's ardent spirit feel, 
James' faith by works reveal; 
Like young Timothy, may I 
Every sinful passion fly. 

Job's submission may I show, 

David's true devotion know; 

Samuel's call, oh, may I hear! 

Lazarus' happy portion share; 
Let Isaiah's hallowed fire 
All my new-born soul inspire. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



363 



Mine be Jacob's wrestling prayer, 

Gideon's valiant, steadfast care; 

Joseph's purity impart, 

Isaac's meditating- heart; 

Abram'g friendship may I prove, 
Faithful to the God of love. 

Most of all, may I pursue 

The example Jesus drew; 

By my lite and conduct show 

How he lived and walked below; 
Day by day, through grace restored. 
Imitate my blessed Lord. 



LIFE. 

Time's the stream on which we sail. 
Swept by every passing gale, 
And our body is the bark 
Floating on its waters dark. 
But the soul the cargo is. 
Steer it to the port of bliss; 
Ply the oars of faith and love, 
If you'd reach the shore above. 

On this iilacid stream of life 
Or amid its surging strife. 
We may cull the blossoms rare 
Which our Father planted there; 
Form a crown, all roseate. 
From Love's flowerets while we wait. 
Thus to count hope's pleasures o'er. 
As we near the other shore. 

But our faith must active be — 
Living for eternity — 
For these treasures hidden lie 
And evade the human eye. 
Keep, then, Jesus close in view. 
Give to him all honor due; 
Then he'll kindly help you find 
Every truth he left behind. 

.\N.NA K. Thomas. 



MUSIC. 



O Music, thou art heaven-born, 

Supremely blessed with grace. 
Upon that noted ancient morn. 

With glory-beaming face, 
A multitude of heavenly host, 

Down from those star-lit skies. 
Came singing with angelic voice 

To sinful man, who dies; 
"We bring you tidings of great joy, 

\\'niich unto all shall be; 
For Christ is born in Bethlehem 

To set sin's captives free." 
Glad angel voices sweet and clear. 

Resounding o'er the plain; 
We catch those silvery tones we hear. 

And waft them on again. 
Those lofty strains of melody. 

Wliich gladden all the land. 
Are floating on in harmony 

At Heaven's high command. 



Bright angels sent from Heaven's throne. 

And chosen by the Lord 
To sing the blood that will atone 

In such divine accord. 

Sweet Music, thou art from above, 

Companion of the heart; 
Thy mission here is that of love; 

With Christ thou hast a part 
In saving souls from sin today. 

As in the time of yore; 
In thy blessed presence let me stay, 

And listen evermore. 
Thou art God's messenger indeed. 

To sing the gospel out; 
Thou dost convict all those who heed, 

And move the saints to sliout,; 
Tliou meltest sinful men to tears; 

Thou wingest souls away 
To realms of bliss, where come no fears. 

To that eternal day. 
Thou art an element of bliss 

To lonely haunts of sin; 
Thy visit to a world like this 

Brought peace to reign within. 
Thy voice melodious, complete, 

In all the earth is heard. 
Thy harmony profoundly sweet. 

In warbles of the bird. 
In every living thing below. 

And in the suJiny air. 
Thy silvery voice we hear and know. 

Is singing everj'where. 
Thy blending notes enrapture all; 

Thy symphonies we hear 
Upon the twilight shades that fall 

And charm the listener's ear. 
"Good news, good news," comes over the 
sea 

On thy angelic wings; 
Though shadows fall dark on the lea. 

Thy voice untiring sings 
To cheer the weary on this shore. 

And dry the tear-dimmed eye; 
To bless them as in days of yore. 

And bring God's presence nigh. 
Thy charming voice is never still — 

'Tis heard in every land; 
Thy holy chords all hearts do thrill. 

While in white robes they stand. 
Each glorious theme thou dost inspire, 

With life tliou dost imbue; 
Within is felt thy glowing Are, 

Thy songs are ever new. 
Around the globe in every clime, 

And in the lowest dell. 
Thy waves are rolling all the time, 

Thy strains the breezes swell. 
Amid the starry skies of night 

Tliy tones unceasingly 
Are heard in vaulted orbs of light 

To all eternity. 

Let lofty strains of music cheer 
The troubled, care-worn breast. 

Oh, charm the eager, listening ear 
Of him who's seeking rest! 

Let earth be vocal with God's praise: 
Let heaven's angelic throng 



364 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Rejoin earth's host through endless days, 

And sing that glorious song 
Of full redemption from all sin, 

Through Christ the Son of God, 
Who reigns supremely now within 

The heart wasued in his blood. 
There's nothing in his vast domain 

More grand, sublime, and sweet, 
Than that which on Judea's plain 

The shepherds' ears did greet. 
■Twas far more charming to the world 

Than songs by sirens sung; 
Truth's banner was in love unfurled. 

But not with stammering tongue. 
"Good news to all!" and "Peace on earth!" 

Rang out through ages past, 
And all who have that blest new birth 

Shall sing while time shall last; 
Nay, while eternity shall roll 

On heaven's blissful shore, 
The saints and angels shall extol 

The Lord forevermore. 

B. E. Wakbkn. 



THE LADY HILDEGARDE. 

[A Recitation for Christmas.] 
Oh, happy is he that giveth 

Of his gifts unto the poor! 
For the smile of the blessed Christ is his, 

And his reward is sure. 

'Twas at the bleak of winter. 

And a drought lay on the land, 
And bread was scarce, and cries of want 

Were heard on every hand, 
■Wlien a beggar roamed through the village. 

Meanly but cleanly clad; 
Her back was bent 'neath the burden of age. 

And her face was pale and sad. 

"Give me of your bread, kind stranger. 

Give me of your bread." cried she; 
"That I'm hungry and cold and ragged and 
old 

You all must plainly see. ' 
With many a look of anger 

They drove her from the door; 
Or if food they gave, 'twas a moldy crust 

Or a bone and nothing more. 

At last at a little cottage, 

One humbler than any there. 
Where a poor old man and his feeble wife 

Dwelt long with want and care. 
She paused — that wretched wanderer — 

And asked awhile to rest 
On the steps; but the man with a kindly 
smile 

Urged in his ragged guest 

And gave her a seat at the fireside, 

While his good wife in a trice 
From the fresh-baked loaf of barley-bread 

Cut oft an ample slice; 
And this, with a cup of water. 

They set before their guest. 
'Twas all they had, they smiling said, 

But the food upon her pressed. 



"May the good Lord never forgive us 

Nor ever bestow us more 
If ever the hungry we turn away 

Unfed from our humble door: 
The little we have to offer 

Is God's, not ours— eat, pray." 
And the beggar ate of the barley-breaS 

And thankful went her way. 

Hildegarde, the lady, who lived 

At the castle stately and grand. 
Invited the villagers to a feast 

To be given by her hand; 
And, smiling they went to the castle. 

And, smiling, they entered the hall, 
Where a chair was set for every one. 

And plates were laid for all. 

Said Hildegarde, smiling sweetly, 

"Come, friends, sit up and eat"; 
And they gathered round that ample board, 

With glad and willing feet; 
Then their eyes oped wide with wonder, 

For they saw — oh, sore dismayed! — 
A moldy cake or a moldier crust 

Beside each platter laid. 

With scraps of cold potatoes 

Which the swine would scarcely eat. 
And tainted fish, and rinds of cheese. 

And broken bits of meat; 
While up in the place of honor 

A table was set for two. 
Groaning beneath its weight of food 

And dainties both sweet and new. 

Then spoke the noble Hildegarde, 

And sternly thus she said: 
"I was the beggar that roamed your streets 

Yestere'en and asked for bread. 
I did it to test you, people, 

So anxious was I to know 
How kind you were to the hungry and poor. 

Amid this season of woe. 

"And these were what ye gave me, 

As ye spurned me from your door — 
These cold, vile scraps and these moldy 
crusts. 

But these and nothing more — 
Not one in this whole, large village, 

Save him with yon hoary head, 
And his dear old wife that asked me in. 

And gave me of their bread. 

"For them is yon table waiting. 

With richest viands stored. 
Go, sit ye down, dear servants of Christ, 

And feast ye at my board; 
And want shall be thine no longer. 

For a home I've given to thee. 
WHiere every comfort of life shall be thine, 

Till life shall cease to be. 

"And ye go home, ye people. 

Each with your moldy crust. 
And bow your heads with very shame. 

Ay, even to the dust. 
And back to my noble castle 

Come yo never again. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



3G3 



Till ye learn with what measure ye mete, it 
shall 
Be measured to you again." 

Oh, happy is he that giveth 

Of his gifts unto the poor! 
For the smile of the blessed Christ is his. 

And his reward is sure. 



LEFT BEHIND. 

Left behind — eartli's fading treasures, 

Those my childish heart thought fair. 
Fairy dreams of earth-born pleasures, 

"UTiich I hoped some day to share — 
Hoped, and sometimes in my grasping, 

Lo! they seemed to fall or die. 
Some were told me without asking; 

Of the rest God knoweth why. 
res, he knew and turned to dust 
■What my heart desired most. 

Over some golden gleaming ' prospect 

Hast thou struggled on and on. 
And at hope's deferring project 

Cried, "The fruitage yet must come"? 
But his skilful hand withholding 

What thy will would fain have claimed. 
Didst thou chide its blessed unfolding? 

Was his loving-kindness blamed? 
Ah, vain heart! submerged in fear. 
Didst thou not his whispers hear? 

Left behind — a faded flower. 

Shrouded in a casket fair. 
Oh, the anguish of that hour! 

^Veight of grief I scarce could bear. 
He was near and stilled the tempest. 

Though his love I could not prize. 
Raging storms my heart encompassed. 

And the vapor dimmed my eyes, 
But his smile of dj'ing grace 
Drove the tear-stains from my face. 

Left behind — his love erasing. 

When my wilful lieart replied. 
But for his strong arms embracing, 

I my trust would have denied. 
But 'tis said, "The wind is tempered 

To the tender lamb when shorn." 
True; for when by weights encumbered, 

And the cross can not be borne. 
Then he lifts thee safe above 
In his arms of perfect love. 

Left behind — with bitter weeping. 

While my heart still trembling clung 
To a few gems in my keeping. 

Which he might refuse to own. 
Thus with fearful heart I lingered 

While the precious moments fled: 
All the while my bosom hungered 

For a place to lay my head. 
With my will at last resigned. 
On his bosom I reclined. 

Left behind — on memory's pages 
Scars I gladly would erase. 



(Siren imprints 'mong the sages 
Would their choicest works deface) ; 

Tet his grace, as dewdrops sparkling, 
Turned the thorns to roses sweet; 

Love my broken heart encircling 
Brouglit a paradise complete. 

Though his smiles I failed to see. 

Tet his arms encircle me. 

Left behind — and now I wonder 

How my heart could plead and crave. 
When those earth-ties rent asunder 

My ill-fated souj to save. 
How his wings above me hovered 

When the blast was fierce and wild! 
How his sweet compassion covered 

His most undeserving child! 
Valued gifts he gave to me. 
Emblems of his majesty. 

Left behind — with burning tear-drops; 

As a gushing fount were they; 
But as sunbeams climb the hilltops. 

Driving all the gloom away. 
So his grace so pure and precious 

Sheds its beauty, all around, 
^'hile his pierced hand so gracious 

Gives a balm for every wound. 
Golden gems today I find 
For the dust I left behinu. 

jENNia Mast. 



A SACRED SPOT. 

There is a spot to me more dear 

Than native vale or mountain, 
A spot for which affection's tear 

Springs grateful from its fountain. 
'Tis not wliere kindred souls abound, 

Though that is almost heaven; 
But where I first my Savior found 

And felt my sins forgiven. 

Hard was my toil to reach the shore, 

Long tossed upon the ocean; 
Above me was the tnunder's roar. 

Beneath the wave's commotion; 
Darkly the pall of night was thrown 

Around me, faint with terror; 
In that dark hour how did my groans 

Ascend for years of error! 

Fainting and panting as for breath 

I knew not help was near me; 
I cried, "Oh, save me, Lord, from death! 

immortal Jesus, hear me! " 
Then quick as thought I felt him mine; 

My Savior stood before me; 
I saw his brightness round me shine. 

And shouted, "Glory! Glory!" 

O sacred hour! O hallowed spot! 

MTiere love divine first found me. 
Wherever falls my distant lot. 

My heart still lingers round thee; 
And when from earth I rise to soar 

Up to my home in heaven, 
Down will I cast my eyes once more 

Where I was first forgiven. 



366 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE NEED OF TODAY. 

It is better to stand alone with God 
Tiian to stand with the crowd on error's 
side; 
It were better to bow 'neath the scourger's 

rod, 
To face e'en the cruel, mocking mob, 
Than to turn away from the Clirist who 
died. 

"Aye! but we do not so," you say? 

"Our faith is in Christ; we would die for 
him." 
Harken! his cause is on trial today; 
Wherever the truth calls for yea or for 
nay 
He is seeking the souls who will stand 
with him. 

'"is the cause of the weak against the 
strong 
Today, as it was when he walked this 
earth; 

'Tis the cause of the right against the 
wrong. 

Though the wrong ue established through 
ages long. 
And the right may seem but of yester- 
day's birth. 

Still are men building the tombs today 

Of those whom a past generation slew. 

Oh, for eyes so single to truth's white ray, 

Oh, for ears so attuned to God's great yea. 

As to know his cause — when as yet 'tis 

new. 



THE MASTER IS COMING. 

Jesus said: "Verily 1 say unto you. Inasmuch as 
ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my 
brethren, ye have done it uoto me." 

They said: "The Master is coming 

To honor the town today. 
And none can tell at whose house or home 

The Master will choose to stay": 
And I thought, while my heart beat wildly, 

"Wliat if he should come to mine? 
How would I strive to entertain 

And honor the Guest divine!" 

And straight I turned to toiling 

To make my home more neat: 
I swept, and polished, and garnished. 

And decked it with blossoms sweet; 
I was troubled for fear the Master 

Might come ere my task was done, 
And I hasted and worked the faster 

And watched the hurrying sun. 

But right in the midst of my duties 

A woman came to my door; 
She had come to tell me her sorrows, 

And my comfort and aid to implore. 
And I said: "I can not listen, 

Nor help you any today; 
I have greater things to attend to"; 

And the pleader turned away. 



But soon there came another — 

A cripple, thin, pale, and gray — 
And said: "Oh, let me stop and rest 

Awhile in your home, I pray! 
I have traveled far since morning; 

I am hungry and faint and weak; 
My heart is full of misery. 

And comfort and help I seek." 

And I said: "I am grieved and sorry. 

But I can not help you today; 
I look for a great and noble Guest"; 

And the cripple went away. 
And the day w'ore onward swiftly. 

And my task was nearly done. 
And a prayer was ever in my heart 

That the Master to me might come. 

And I thought I would spring to meet him. 

And serve him with utmost care, 
When a little child stood by me, 

With a face so sweet and fair — 
Sweet, but with marks of tear-drops. 

And his clothes were tattered and old: 
A finger was bruised and bleeding. 

And his little bare feet were cold. 

And I said: "I'm sorry for you; 

You are sorely in need of care, 
But I can not stop to give it; 

You must hasten on elsewhere." 
And at the words a shadow 

Swept over nis blue-veined brow — 
"Some one will feed and clothe you, dear. 

But I am too busy now." 

At last the day was ended. 

And my toil was over and done; 
My house was swept and garnished. 

And I watched in the dusk alone — 
Watched, but no footfall sounded. 

No one paused at my gate. 
No one entered my cottage door; 

I could only pray and wait. 

I waited till night had deepened. 

And the Master had not come: 
"He has entered some other door," I cried, 

"And gladdened some other home!" 
My labor had been for nothing, 

And I bowed my head and wept; 
My heart was sore with longing. 

Yet. in spite of all, I slept. 

Then the Master stood before me, 

And his face was grave and fair: 
"Three times today I came to your door. 

And craved your pity and care; 
Three times you sent me onward, 

Unhelped and uncomforted. 
And the blessing you might have had was 
lost, 

And your chance to serve lias fled." 

"O Lord, dear Lord, forgive me! 

How could I know it was thee?" 
My very soul was shamed and bowed 

In the depths of humility. 
And he said: "The sin is pardoned. 

But the blessing is lost to thee; 
For, comforting not the least of mine, 

You have failed to comfort me." 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



367 



THE CRUSADES OF HELL. 

Part I. 
THE FALL OF MAN. 
The stars that sang creation'^ birth, 

When wisdom laid her corner-stone. 
And all the sons of God. for joy, 

That shouted loud from Heaven's dome, 
Beheld with solemn, painful look 

The brunt of Satan's deep devise, 
When hell and sin tliis planet shook. 

And moved it out of Paradise. 

The workmanship of God so pure. 

Suburb of heaven's city fair. 
This earth once bloomed an Eden home, 

In gentle Paradisic air. 
Her lord was made in image true 

Of him, the holy Lord of all. 
Oft heard the happy family 

The steps of God, their Father's call. 

But struck by sin's infernal blast, 

A million miles now intervene 
Between this world, in ruin lost. 

And it's primordial lofty scene. 
Distorted, it's polarity, 

A horoscope, conceived in sin, 
Earth sank to hell's environment. 

There whirled mid black confusion's din. 

All wickedness in every thought,* 

And bent to sin and vice alone; 
Toward God, his Maker, Indevout, 

To every menial idol prone. 
Remorseful now his loss to know. 

Consumed in lust of base desire. 
Vile man still plunged in deeper woe; 

Of hell his passions set on fire. 

Beholding thus the race corrupt. 

Repented God that man had made, 
And after duly warning all, 

Jehovah's wrath no longer stayed. 
Forth brake the flood, the billows met. 

Submerging earth — worse 'gulfed in sin — 
Like a mill-stone cast in ocean deep. 

Save Noah's ark and those within. 

Swept clean the earth her Sabbaths kept; 

No tongue profaned its Maker's name; 
But with the growth of Noah's seed, 

Sin raised its hydra form again. 
Then from Mount Sinai's burning top 

God thundered forth a rigid code. 
The violence of man to check. 

Till came that "Seed," the Son of God. 

Part II. 
THE BLOODY POLICY OF THE FIRST 

CRUSADE. 
Four hundred years had slowly passed away 
Since dropped the curtain of prophetic day. 
Since Mala' closed that bold and faithful 

line 
Of seers who thundered burning truth 

divine. 
Oft rising early, importuning men, 
Jehovah spake through prophet's vivid ken. 



• Gen. 6: 5. 



Now hushed each lip that glowed by 

heaven's spark, 
AH men sat waiting, musing in the dark. 

But even silence spake in solemn ,.one. 
And darkness brooded hopes of David's 

throne. 
And daily glowed the sacrificial fire, 
\Yhere fiowed the typic blood of God's 

Messiah. 
There waited Phanuel's daughter night and 

day, 
The Savior's coming earnestly to pray, 
'Til witnessed in the temple Simeon's eye 
The consolation promised ere he die. 

No sooner dawned the Dayspring's golden 

ago 
'"han moved the flend.s of hell with livid 

rage. 
Well knowing Satan heaven's kingdom is 
That mystic stone that would demolish his. 
Thus doomed the kingdom devils arrogate. 
As came the "blessed only Potentate" 
To break in pieces every rival throne, 
And reign eternal King of kings alone. 

Hell's furious envy sought, as eager prey. 
The tender plant of human hope to slay. 
A kingly heart his jealousy inwrought. 
And, restless, feared his throne should come 

to naught, 
Then vainly filled with diabolic plan. 
The murder of the infant Son of man. 
Through Palestine the bloody edict runs. 
Inflicting death on Rachel's fondling sons. 

At .Jordan's stream the bridal servant stood, 
And pointed out the blessed Lamb of God; 
And, merging from his deep symbolic grave, 
The Spirit came in body shape a dove. 
Then summoned in the dreary wilderness, 
Long fasting, hunger-smit, in deep distress, 
The Savior met in conflict Heaven's foe. 
Repulsing him with honor's stunning blow. 

Unmoved the Son of God by Satan's wiles. 
Overcoming in tlie hour of deepest trials: 
The fiend recoiled, chagrined at his defeat. 
His legions called, in Pandemoniu.m meet. 
To whom discoursed their king, with fallen 

mien. 
Of his reverse, while groanings intervene. 
His lords responded, each his plot to show, 
Emanuel's kingdom best to overthrow. 

Each harangue stirred the animus of hell 
To hissings, groans, and din of fiendish yell. 
Then to infernal counsel cooled again. 
All clamored that the Prince of peace be 

slain. 
To black his name w'ith vilest infamy, 
Hell chose to nail him to the cursed tree; 
Meantime let every lying tongue employ, 
His character to tarnish and destroy. 

'Twas done, for so had heaven preordained. 
To perfect him by suffering ere he reigned. 
So bowed the Son of God his head and died; 
The Just, for sinners lost, was crucified. 
But death and hell, defeated as before, 



368 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Unbarred the risen Christ their prison door; 
So rose the Prince of life from death's 

domain. 
To break from man the monster's vassal 

chain. 

So trod the wine-press Heaven's lowly 

Lamb, 
And wrought redemption for the race of 

man. 
While sitting- 'neath sin's dark and gloomy 

night. 
There shone on men the dawn of Heaven's 

light; 
And Zion fair, by prophets oft foretold. 
Appeared on earth, God's church of purest 

gold. 
Up to her summit many nations flow. 
And in her light their joyful spirits glow. 

But will the fiend, earth's usurpation lord. 
Leave undisturbed this Paradise restored? 
Repelled by Christ, the living head of all. 
Will not his vengeance on the members fall? 
His nature vile, and vicious all his bent, 
Shall he forbear? from hellish deeds dis- 
sent? 
Nay, hell is moved to deepest, foulest pit, 
And demons vie, in bloody counsel sit. 

An insult to the throne of sin and death 
AH subjects of the scepter righteousness. 
Fell hatred, murder, and malignity 
Are Satan's laws, while love is anarchy 
And virtue is deemed by Satan's govern- 
ment 
A crime deserving death or banishment. 
Inflamed with burning fury hell's domain. 
To torture saints with prison, rack, and 
flame. 

Nor long perplexed were Satan's wily clan 
For instruments to execute his plan. 
While a religion, minus love divine, 
The hearts of men with bigotry enshrine, 
His ready servants such will ever be: 
Their god in danger, burns their jealousy. 
Which is the devil's richest harvest-fleld; 
Its bloody vintage, persecution's yield. 

Forth stood the whited sepulchers at hand 
Sin-blinded for their father's fell command. 
Their pharisaic garments stained with 

blood 
Of him they crucified, the Son of God. 
To Stephen was the martyr's honor given. 
The Jewish stones promoting him to 

heaven. 
Him followed many a noble sacrifice 
To wear a purchased crown at martyr's 

price. 

The whipping-post, the prison's gloomy cell. 
Wild beasts of prey, and chopping-block.s 

as well 
Were utilized to quench the mighty truth 
And kill the worshipers of God forsooth. 
When filled the measure of malevolence — 
The .Jewish cup of red intolerance- 



Brim full, and on them poured by Heaven's 

ire, 
God quenched that nation's persecuting fire. 

But brief the respite to the virgin church. 
Meantime hell pried with diligent research. 
How to enlarge his enginery to kill, 
And greedy thirst for saintly blood to fill. 
His gloating eyes to pagan gods are turned, 
There hissing up the smoldering fires that 

burned 
On idol-shrines, till roused that eagle Rome. 
To tear, with vengeful talons, Mercy's 

throne. 

An empire, universal and strong, 
The fiendish foe of man now hisses on. 
Mixing idol-bane with fell despotic power, 
The infant Church of Jesus to devour. 
A thousand martyrs honor Heaven's grace. 
Ten thousand enter joyfully their place. 
But Satan, waxing desperate, yet more 
Inventions sought to fill the land with gore. 

The guillotine, to sever head and heart. 
And quench the light of Heaven they 

impart. 
Hell's inquisition, where fierce demons sit 
In human form, but inward from the pit, 
Whose bloody hands extinguish mortal life. 
By every instrument of torture rife. 
Or terrify, were't possible, a saint. 
The faith of his Redeemer to recant. 

But floods of persecution pour in vain; 

The rack and gibbet and the burning flai'ie. 

Yea, inquisitions, 'rnersed in holy blood. 

Can never quencli the truth and love of 
God. 

Straight from each scene of honored sac- 
rifice 

There mounted up a soul to Paradise, 

And from the ashes of each burning pile. 

Up seemed to stand a bold and num*rous 
file— 

'Til Satan, it appears, began to cloy 
At countless millions he must needs destroy 
If by mart.vrdom he would succeed 
To exterminate the holy seed; 
Or rather, Satan now began to be 
Perplexed with doubts of his own policy. 
Observing that the more he beat the fire, 
The more it spread abroad, and flamed the 
higher. 

Then hell bethought, in deepest quest to 

know, 
Wliy futile his attempts to overthrow 
The pillared temple of the living God, 
And check the onward march of Jesus' word. 
Krelong the wily fiend discovered, lo. 
That death and suffering only serve to show 
The love and peace that in a Christian 

shine. 
And prove the system heavenly, divine; 
Then devils groaned to find their deeds at 

last. 
Overruled to serve the cause they thought 

to blast. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



369 



Part III. 
FAILURE OF THE SECOND CRUSADE. 
Then Satan, biirning with defeat. 

More desperate became. 
His legions, summoned at his feet. 

In hellish council came. 
Forth rose the great Apollyon chief. 

Mid din of hiss and yell. 
And burning fires reef. 

That shook the depths of hell. 

Thus spoke the diabolic fiend: 

"Dominions! mighty lords! 
Tour utmost wisdom all ccgnbine, 

In consultation's words. 
Some wiser sclieme or strategem 

Than bloody martyrdom 
We must devise for future plan — 

One hitherto unknown." 

Then Moloch, fiercest power of hell, 

Loud spake with utmost ire. 
He deeming nothing half so well 

As slaughter, blood, and fire. 
Next Belial, more considerate. 

Maturer counsel sigiis, 
"That death can ne'er exterminate 

The seed it multiplies." 

Next Mammon rose with grave address, 

His counsel forth to gleam: 
"Most noble peers! we must confess. 

That 'twere but folly's dream 
To cope witli Heaven's lofty throne. 
Until eternal fate shall yield 

To chance's fickle nod, 
■We may not hope our sway to yield 

O'er the almighty God. 

"And yet our futile war to wage 

Against the church of God, 
Were to assault his heritage. 

His own select abode. 
As well might hope her prestige lend 

'Gainst the Omniscient Sire 
As crown a war against his fold. 

His throne of living fire." 

Then rose up — next to Satan's rank, 

A pillar strong of state — 
Beelzebub's Atlantean form. 

And, gaining audience, spake; 
"Thrones! powers! proud offspring of 
Heaven! 

Grave questions here arise — 
How victory to our cause be given, 

WTiat project best devise. 

"From persecution's fruitless fire. 

We may as well uesist; 
But who can tell how else conspire. 

This kingdom to resist? 
Athwart my mind there gleams a plan; 

Most I'oble peers attend! 
Let us affect to turn amain, 

This hated cause befriend. 

"Instead of war we'll kindness show 
To all believers round, 



All hell extol the Christian name. 

Good will on earth abound. 
Though subjects many we shall lose, 

By bidding them Godopeed, 
Yet tliey who go by our consent 

Will not be saints indeed. 

"So we will feign to have espoused 

What we could not destroy; 
Our hatred to the trutli disguise, 

The pilgrims to decoy, 
Down from their high and holy way; 

And by this bait we'll tole 
Them into fellowship with us. 

And so corrupt the soul." 

All hell broke forth in loud applause 

To hail the good advice; 
Then Satan rose and second gave, 

Completing the device. 
"Much wisdom we have heard," said he, 

"But deeper still I see: 
More than befriend, we'll join the church 

And each a member be; 

"For if we gain advantage-ground, 

Assuming to be friends. 
Much more within the church's bond 

We shall acliieve our ends. 
There, to attain each office-seat. 

We'll work the wires right well. 
And, gaining rule, we can defeat. 

And cast her down to hell. 

"Our nature we will galvanize. 

In penitence appear 
Low at tlie door witli weeping eyes. 

And pray admittance there. 
Our persecutions we'll repent — 

Because they proved in vain; 
We'll seek a place within the church 

And help to build the same. 

"But, dwelling in the church of light, 

All holy we must feign. 
And don the saintly robes of white — 

Still devils we remain. 
Tliough hating all the holy seed. 

We'll play the Christian fair"; 
For devils prone to black deceit. 

As well as open war. 

So hell agreed upon the plan 

To join the living church; 
And, Satan leading, forth they came, 

Tiie entrance for to search. 
Like mourners now the fiendish crew 

Their wickedness deplore. 
But shrink amazed as, lo! they view. 

That Jesus is the door. 

Then looking up in fear, beheld 

"Her walls were great and high"; 
Their altitude no fiends ascend. 

Their strength all hell defy. 
Then passing round with eager eye, 

A second time and thrice. 
No other ingress could they spy. 

No other door but Christ. 



370 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"Her bulwarks reach to Heaven's throne, 

God's glory her defense; 
Her great foundations deep and strong, 

All frustrate our pretense. 
No threshold but the eternal Son! 

Can devils enter him? 
Behold his eyes as lightning run, 

Inapproachable by sin. 

"That flaming door we can but hate, 

But enter and despoil 
We will unless eternal fate 

Our conjurations foil. 
So let us search Elmanuel's Book, 

Perchance we'll find a clue. 
Or some condition we may brook, 

By which to enter through. 

"What mode of entrance has the church? 

Read now the Book and see. 
'Tis by a new and second birth. 

Whatever that process be. 
But who can tell us what this means — 

'Ye must be born again'? 
To us it very foolish seems, 

Nor can the gods explain. 

"Whence came the church? From Heaven's 
throne. 

A golden city fair. 
Were she produced by human skill. 

We might admittance share; 
If only formed on earthly plane, 

Then devils might come in. 
Then we'd assume the Christian name, 

And join the social ring. 

"What is the church? The body of 

The Son of God himself. 
May devils hope to gain that place, 

By stratagem or stealth? 
Each member is a part of him. 

The fulness of them all; 
And like him must be free from sin. 

Though great or even small. 

"Wliat is the church? Her elements 

Are love and truth divine. 
With her pure gold of holiness 

No dross of sin combine. 
Within her burns a fire intense. 

From Heaven's furnace — love — 
Which flame, upon unrighteousness. 

Far worse than hell would prove. 

"If creatures did but organize 

The structure of the church. 
We'd like a noble pillar rise. 

They'd set us in as such; 
But now has God the members set 

All in their order true, 
He leaving all the sinners out, 

And us poor devils too. 

"Or turned but man the churchly key. 

And passed the seeker in, 
We'd knock and pray as loud as he. 

And so admittance win; 
But He, the Porter of the sheep, 

Alas! we know too well. 



And, worse than all. He, knowing us, 
Would blast us back to hell." 

Just then there burst a snout of praise 

From all the ransomed host; 
Their songs like mighty thunders rose, 

Filled with the Holy Ghost. 
Then, seized with terror, Satan's camp 

From Zion's mountain nit; 
In fear and wild disorder scamp 

Back to their native pit. 

Hell sat amazed in horror mute, 

Struck dumb at Zion's sight; 
Deject, bewildered at their rout. 

Their prestige smit with blight. 
Then gathering pluck at last to rise 

Thus Satan, loth, began: 
"To join the church, we thought us wise; 

Now fools, we never can. 

"Yet finding out our folly may 

Add some to wisdom's store 
.So by our failure we today 

Know more than heretofore. 
Though what we've learned we wish were 
not — - 

Ill-fated to our scheme — 
Yet, knowing hell must be our lot. 

We'll cling to valor's dream." 

Tlius, scarce again reviving hope. 

Spake the diabolic chief. 
His legions sat on circled slope, 

A dark infernal reef. 
Their wits at work how next to vent 

The wrath defeat enraged; 
For devils only are content 

In devilment engaged. 

Part IV. 
SATAN'S THIRD AND LAST CRUSADE. 
All hell's infernal ministry 

Was summoned to the task 
Of projecting some new policy, 

And this was struck at last. 
The chief of devils, rising, said: 

"Comrades! since martyrdom 
Has failed, likewise our last crusade, 

Let's try this stratagem; 

"Since war can not exterminate. 

Nor can we join the church. 
We'll make to it a counterfeit. 

We'll institute a search 
For some aspirant dignities 

Who wear the Christian name, 
To draft its creed, to organize 

And introduce the same. 

"We'll flatter and insinuate 

A ritualistic zeal; 
Assemble councils, grave and great, 

And help to turn the wheel. 
We'll whisper in those bishops' ears, 

And get them fall in line. 
To tinker up a human thing, 

A church we all can join. 

"And if it ever gets exposed. 
We'll get some better men 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



371 



To cut and frame as they're disposed, 

And reconstruct again; 
And should they get more truth inwove, 

We'll warp in more of sin. 
Truth mixed will only more deceive. 

Just so we can get in. " 

So hell employed the policy 

Of many traps, with bait 
Disguised beneath a sacred name. 

Their mischief and their fate 
Read in chronicles of Cripple-Soul,* 

And what that town befell 
■When all the good and true and bold 

Came out the gins of hell. 

Daniel S. Warner. 



LAZARUS. 

Long ago by the gate of a rich man, there 
waited 
Unattended and poor as a beggar could 
be, 
A lone hapless creature most sorely af- 
flicted. 
And no kindred heart gave the lea.-^t 
sympathy. 
Wealth might have spared from her plen- 
teous portion 
Some balm for the weary and suffering 
one; 
His bosom no doubt would have throbbed 
with emotion 
For a cool quiet rest from the heat u'' 
the sun. 

A pillow at nightfall, a cot, and a cover. 
Wealth might have afforded to lessen the 
pain; 
'Twould all have returned ere life's jour- 
ney was over. 
Perhaps in a harvest of well-ripened 
grain; 
For while the earth with its fountains of 
water 
Belongeth to him who created the same. 
Tet kindly the Father rewardeth the donor 
Who gives but one cup in the dear 
Savior's name. 

But alone at the gateway poor Lazarus 
lingered. 
And fain of the crumbs would have tliank- 
fully fed; 
He lay there, we know not how long, un- 
attended. 
Though the rich man was blessed with 
abundance of bread. 
Graciously clothed in fine linen and purple. 
From a bounteous table — how sumptuous 
his fare! 
But from his heart not one cliord of com- 
passion 
Responded for him who lay haplessly 
near. 



•The author makes reference here to his 
poem "Soul-Cripple City." In which is described the 
apostate condition of the modem denominations. This 
poem is out of print at present. We give only a 
selection flora it on page 376. 



Then his covetous stewardship as if to ad- 
monish. 
The dogs showed some pity for Lazarus' 
fate; 
But if some kindly deed he dnce thought 
to accomplish. 
He delayed through neglect till, alasl 
'twas too late; 
For Lazarus died, and witli no lamentation 
(No sable drapings, no sermon, no 
prayer) 
Was hurried away to a lone destination. 
With no one to weep o'er liis uncomely 
bier. 

But from thence he was carried to Abra- 
ham's bosom 
By angels, and loved as a most honored 
guest; 
And better by far than earth's choicest 
fruition 
Was the favor bestowed in that "haven 
of rest." 
While we are not told of the sweet benedic- 
tion 
That doubtless was tenderly breathed in 
his ear, 
I believe they all knew of earth's cruel 
affliction. 
And were eagerly waiting to welcome liini 
there. 

The rich man responded also to the sum- 
mons, 
Tliat called him to mystical regions of 
night. 
No angel messenger wafted the tidings 
Of welcome for him as his spirit took 
flight; 
He went to that place where the wicked, ira 
waiting. 
Behold farther on a more terrible doom. 
Conscience meanwhile to its victim relating 
Tlie penalty fixed at the judgment to, 
come. 

'Twas there he remembered, but not witl> 
contrition. 
The poor man who helplessly laid at his 
gate; 
And, looking afar through an uncloudecl 
vision. 
He beheld him now blessed with the rich- 
est estate. 
In anguish of spirit we hear him appealing 
To Abraham, pleading that Lazarus come; 
But Abraham spake of the gulf fixed be- 
tween them 
And of the good things which on earth 
he had known. 

Reader, is there awaiting without at your 

gateway 
A poor helpless soul with his garments 

defiled? 
Oh! turn from him not, lest you think of it 

some day 
When you find from God's precepts your 

heart is beguiled. 
'He that stoppeth his ear at the cry of the- 

needy. 



372 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



He also shall cry, but he shall not be 
heard.' 
Then, unto His poor let us minister freely. 
Depending on Father's immutable Word. 

jENNia Mast. 



WHAT THEN? 

To thf Unbeliever. 

After the joys of earth, 
After its songs of mirth. 
After its hours of light. 
After its dreams so bright — 

Wliat then? 

Only an empty name. 
Only a weary frame. 
Only a conscious smart. 
Only an aching heart. 

After this empty name. 
After this weary frame. 
After this conscious smart, 
After this aching heart — 

What the'i? 

Only a sad farewell 
To a world loved too well. 
Only a silent bed 
With the forgotten dead. 

After this sad farewell 
To a world loved too well, 
After this silent bed 
With the forgotten dead — 

What then? 

Oh! tiien the judgment-throne! 
Oh! then the last hope gone! 
Then, all the woes that dwell 
In an eternal hell! 



WHAT THEN? 

To the Believer. 

After the Curistian's tears, 
After his fights and fears. 
After his weary cross, 
"All things below but loss" — 

What then? 

Oh! then a holy calm. 
Resting on Jesus' arm, 
Oh! then a deeper love 
For the pure home above. 

After this holy calm, 
This rest on Jesus' arm; 
After this deepened love 
For the pur© home above — 

What then? 

Oh! then work for him, 
Perishing souls to win; 
Then Jesus' presence near. 
Death's darkest hour to cheer. 



And when the work is done. 
When the last soul is won. 
When Jesus' love and power 
Brings the expected hour — 

What then? 

Oh! tlien the crown is given! 
Oh! then the rest in heaven! 
Endless life, in endless day. 
Sin and sorrow passed away. 



WHAT IS HEAVEN? 

"Wliat is heaven?" I asked a little child; 
"All joy!" and in her innocence she smiled. 

I asked tlie aged, with her care oppressed: 
"All suffering o'er, oh! heaven, at last, is 
rest!" 

I asked the maiden, meek and tender-eyed; 
"It must be love!" she modestly replied. 

I asked the artist, who adored his art; 
"Heaven is all beauty!" spoke his raptured 
heart. 

I asked the poet, with his soul afire; 

" 'Tis glory — glory!" and he struck his lyre. 

I asked the Christian, waiting her release; 
A halo round her, low she murmured, 
"Peace!" 

So all may look with hopeful eyes above; 
'Tis beauty glory, joy, rest, peace, and 
love! 



THE CHURCH WALKING WITH THE 
WORLD. 

The Church and the World walked far apart 

On the changing shores of time; 
The World was singing a giddy song, 

And the Church a hymn sublime. 
"Come, give me your hand," cried the merry 
World, 

"And walk with me this way"; 
But the good Cliurch hid her snowy hand. 

And solemnly answered, "Nay, 
I will not give you my hand at all. 

And I will not walk with you: 
Tour way is the way of endless death; 

Tour words are all untrue." 

"Nay, walk with me but a little space," 

Said the World with a kindly air; 
"The road I walk is a pleasant road. 

And the sun shines always there. 
Tour path is thorny and rough and rude, 

And mine is broad and plain; 
My road is paved with flowers and gems, 

And yours with tears and pain. 
The sky above me is always blue: 

No want, no toil, I know: 
The sky above you is always dark; 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



373 



Your lot is a lot of woe. 
My path, you see, is a broad, fair path, 

And my gate is high and wide; 
There is room enough for you and for me 

To travel side by side." 

Half shyly the Church approached the 
World 

And gave him her hand of snow; 
The old World grasped it and walked along. 

Saying, in accents low; 
"Your dress is too simple to please my 
taste; 

I will give you pearls to wear. 
Rich velvet and silks for your graceful 
form 

And diamonds to deck your hair." 
The Church looked down at her plain wliite 
robes 

And then at the dazzling World 
And blushed as she saw his liandsome lip 

With a smile contemptuous curled. 
"I will change my dress for a costlier one," 

Said the Church with a smile of grace; 
Then her pure garments drifted away, 

And the World gave, in their place. 
Beautiful satins and shining silks 

And roses and gems and pearls; 
And over her forehead her bright hair fell 

Crisped in a thousand curls. 

"Tour house is too plain," said the proud 
old World; 
"I'll build you one like mine: 
Carpets of Brussels, and curtains of lace. 

And furniture ever so fine." 
So he built her a costly and beautiful 
house — * 
Splendid it was to behold. 
Her sons and her beautiful daughters dwelt 
there, 
Gleaming in purple and gold; 
And fairs and shows in the halls were held, 
And the 'W'orld and his children were 
there; 
And laughter and music and feasts were 
heard 
In the place that was meant for prayer. 
She had cushioned pews for the rich and 
the great 
To sit in their pomp and their pride, 
TVliile the poor folks, clad in their shabby 
suits, 
Sat meekly down outside. 

The angel of mercy flew over the Church, 

And whispered, "I know thy sin." 
The Church looked back with a sigh, and 
longed 

To gather her children in; 
But some were off in the midnight ball, 

And some were off at the play. 
And some were drinking in gay saloons; 

So she quietly went her way. 

The sly 'World gallantly said to her, 
"Your children mean no harm — 

Merely indulging in innocent sports" 
So she leaned on his proffered arm. 



And smiled, and chatted, and gathered 
flowers. 
As she walked along with the World; 
While millions and millions of deathless 
souls 
To the horrible pit were hurled. 

"Your preachers are all too old and plain," 

Said the gay old World with a sneer; 
"They frighten my children with dreadful 
tales. 

Which I like not for them to hear; 
They talk of brimstone and fire and pain. 

And the horrors of endless niglit; 
They talk of a place that should not be 

Mentioned to ears polite. 
I will send you some of the better stamp, 

Brilliant and gay and fast. 
Who will tell them that people may live 
as they list, 

And go to heaven at last. 
The Father is merciful and great and good. 

Tender and true and kind; 
Do you think he would take one child to 
heaven 

And leave the rest behind?" 
So he filled her house with gay divines. 

Gifted and great and learned; 
And the plain old men that preached tlie 
cross 

Were out of the pulpit turned. 

"You give too much to the poor," said the 
World; 

"Far more than you oug-ht to do. 
If the poor need shelter and food and 
clothes. 

Why need it trouble you? 
Go, take your money and buy rich robes. 

And horses and carriages fine. 
And pearls and jewels and dainty food. 

And the rarest and costliest wine. 
My children they dote on all such things. 

And if you their love would win. 
You must do as they do, and walk in the 
ways 

That they are walking in." 
The Church held tightly the strings of her 
purse, 

And gracefully lowered her head. 
And simpered, "I've given too much away; 

I'll do, sir, as you have said." 

So the poor were turned from her door In 
scorn. 
And she heard not the orphans' cry; 
And she drew her beautiful robes aside. 

As the widows went weeping by. 
Tlie sons of the World and the sons of the 
Church 
Walked closely hand and heart. 
And only the Master, who knoweth all. 

Could tell the two apart. 
Then the Church sat down at her ease and 
said: 
"I am rich, and in goods increased; 
I have need of nothing, and naught to do 

But to laugh and dance and feast." 
The sly World heard her, and laughed in 
his sleeve, 



374 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And mockingly said aside, 
"Tlia Cliurch is fallen — the beautiful 
Churcli^ 
And her shame is her boast and pride!" 

The angel drew near to the mercy-seat, 

And whispered, in sighs, her name; 
And the saints their anthems of rapture 
huslied 
And covered their heads witli shame; 
And a voice came down, througli the luish 
of heaven, 
From him who sat on the tlirone, 
"'I know thy work, and liow thou hast said, 

'I am rich,' and liast not known 
That thou art nalted and poor and blind 

And wretched before my face; 
Therefore from my presence I cast thee 
out, 
And blot thy name from its place!" 

Matilda C. Edwards. 



THE MOTHER S TRUST. 

Tbey sUall take to them every man a lamb, ac- 
cording to tbe bouse of their fathers, a lamb for a 
liouse. It is the Lord's passover. The blood shall 
be to you for a tokon upon the houses where ,ve are. 
And when I see the blood. 1 will pass over you. — 
Exort 12: 3, 11, 13. 

Beneath the blood-stained lintel I with my 
children stand; 

A messenger of evil is passing through the 
land. 

There is no other refuge from the de- 
stroyer's face; 

Beneath the blood-stained lintel shall be 
our hiding-place. 

Tlie lamb of God has suffered; our sins and 
griefs he bore; 

By faith the blood is sprinkled above our 
dwelling's door. 

Tlie foe who seeks to enter doth fear that 
sacred sign; 

Toniglit the blood-stained lintel shall shel- 
ter me and mine. 

My Savior, for my dear ones I claim thy 
promise true; 

The Lamb is "for the household" — the chil- 
dren's Savior too. 

On earth the little children once felt tliy 
toucli divine; 

Beneath the blood-stained lintel thy bless- 
ings give to mine. 

O tliou who gave them, guard them — those 

wayward little feet; 
The wilderness before them, the ills of life 

to meet. 
My mother-love is helpless; I trust them to 

thy care! 
Beneath the blood-stained lintel, oh, keep 

me ever there! 

The faith I rest upon thee, thou wilt not 

disappoint; 
With wisdom. Lord, to train them my 

shrinking heart anoint. 



Without my cliildren. Father, I can not see 
til y face ; 

I plead the blood-stained lintel, thy cove- 
nant of grace. 

O wonderful Redeemer, who suffered for our 
sake. 

When over tlie guilty nations the judgment- 
storm sliail break, 

Witli joy from that safe slielter may we 
then meet tiiine eye, 

Beneath the blood-stained lintel, my chil- 
dren, Lord, and I. 



SUN-CLOUDS. 

A friend once turned to me and said, 

"Why is the sun so dim today?" 
He held a glass of deepest red 
Before its ray. 

I answered not. He surely knows 

Its glorious light is never dim; 
When, to my wonder and amaze. 
He asked again. 

And then he strangely looked at me, 

\Vhile, vivid, flaslied across m.v mind 
Tlie meaning of the mystery. 
So hard to find! 

A fairer Sun, a brighter Light, 

Had paled before my careless eyes. 
And I had asked, "Why does the night 
So dark arise?" 

O Savior! revelation bright 

Of God's own glory and his grace. 
Thou art not changed, but pleasure's blight 
Has liid tli.v face. 

Remove the veil that dims my siglit, 

These earth-born wishes, floating round; 
And let me learn 'tis never night 
Where thou art found! 



THE PURE BRIDE RESTORED. 

There came a time when the angels wept 

And the heavens sished with pain; 
The throne of wliite wore a sable hue: 

For the Lord afresh was slain 
'Twas when, alas! to tlie crafty world 

Turned the virgin churcli aside. 
And wedlock broke with the Son of God, 

By whom washed, a spotless bride. 

Away from God to sects of the world, 

Then forth to the dance and feast, 
All decked in pride, an apostate vile. 

Far and wide her sin increased. 
No more was she the bride of the Lord, 

Though she wore his name, divine. 
By the means of which she hath deceived 

All the nations with her wine. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



373 



Repent, O captive: again return 

To the Husband of tliy youth. 
Or feel the woes of a jealous God, 

With a flaming sword of truth 
Smite down his foes and redeem his church 

From the rivals of his Son. 
Oh, awful day of his burning wrath! 

Through the earth his judgments run. 

Plis angels fly in the midst of heaven. 

With a startling fierce command: 
"Fear God; to him be thy worship given: 

For his judgments are at hand." 
"His mighty ones," all the "sanctified," 

"For his anger he hath called." 
The pure alone can the day abide. 

While the wicked flee, appalled. 

All heaven is moved, and the earth is 
riven 

By the burning of God's ire. 
The dragon's host from the church is driven 

'Neath the hail-storm, blood, and fire. 
Again appears the bride of the Lord, 

Pure and spotless through his blood; 
A loud voice shouts, "Salvation is come. 

And the kingdom of our God!" 

Dambl S. Warner. 



THE FIRSTFRUITS OF THEM THAT 
SLEPT." 

1 Cot. 15 : 20. 

Past are the anguish and weight of his 
passion; 
Sealed in a sepulcher, Jesus doth lie, 
Guarded by soldiers in armor, whose 
fashion 
Only imperial Rome can supply. 

Just from the courts of Jehovah descended. 
Clothed in a raiment as white as the 
snow, 
Shining in face as by lightning attended. 
Speeds there an angel as a dart from its 
bow. 

Reaching the garden as daylight is spring- 
ing. 
Backward he rolleth the stone from the 
grave; 
Up Cometh Jesus, in majesty, bringing 
Proof reconfirmed of his power to save. 

Shaking with fear, to the ground fall the 
keepers; 

Quaketh the eart.i with mysterious thrills. 
Glory to God in the highest! Te weepers, 

Shout in the chorus that heaven now fills. 

Earth could not bind a true Lord of crea- 
tion; 
Vanquished is death by the Author of life; 
Quickly arise ye and tell every nation 
Jesus has won in the glorious strife. 

Past are the anguish and weight of his 
passion; 



Pleasures forevermore bide him on high; 
Clothed is the Savior with garments In 
fashion 
Human resources could nevsr supply. 

ROSIBRT ROXaiUN'. 



THE LORD S PRAYER ILLUSTRATED. 

Oar Father, 

By riglit of creation. 
By bountiful provision. 
By gracious adoption, 

'niio art In heaven, 

The throne of thy glory, 
Tlie portion of thy children. 
The temple of thy angels. 

Hallowed be thy name, 

By tlie thought of our hearts. 
By tlie words of our lips. 
By the works of our hands; 

Thy Ungrdom come, 

Of providence to defend us, 
Of grace to refine us, 
Of glory to crown us; 

Thy will be done on earth aa It !• In 
heaven. 

Toward us without resistance. 
By us without compulsion. 
Universally without exception, 
Eternally without declension. 

Qi7« ns this day our daily bread, 

Of necessity for our bodies. 
Of eternal life for our souls; 

And forgrlve ns our trespasseB 

Against the commands of thy law. 
Against the grace of thy gospel; 

Ag we torgive those who trespass affainst 
ns 

By defaming our character. 
By embezzling our property. 
By abusing our persons; 

And lead us not into temptation, but de- 
liver us from evil, 

Of overwhelming affliction. 
Of worldly enticements, 
Of Satan's devices. 
Of error's seduction, 
Of sinful affections. 

Tov thine is the kingrdom and the power 
and the grlory forever. 

Thy kingdom governs all. 
Thy power subdues all, 
Thy glorv is above all. 

Amen; 

As it is in thy purposes, 
So it is in thy promises. 
So it be in our prayers. 
So it shall be to thy praise. 



376 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



SOUL-CRIPPLE CITY. 

[We give here only a selection from this poem — ■ 
from the division "God Calls His People Out of 
Her." In the preceding portion is described, in 
rather a humorous way, the forlorn, spiritually-crip- 
pled condition of modern denominationalism. At 
present the poem is out of print.] 

But adieu; for we must travel 

With the remnant who return, 
Fleeing from the fall of Babel, 

To the New Jerusalem. 
Hark! a noise like many waters; 

'Tis the captives' jubilee. 
Like the voice of many thunders — 

Halleluiah! we are free. 

For behold, with joyful wonder. 

Just outside the crumbling wal 
Of that hold of craft and plunder, 

There the pilgrims found withal 
First a highway, then a higher. 

"Called the way of holiness."! 
Here the God of love and power 

Raised them up to righteousness.2 

Here they gained eternal safety 

From the prowling beasts around: 
Lions, vultures, beasts of raven. 

Never shall thereon be found. 
But there walk the holy people, 

"And the ransomed of the Lord 
Shall return and come to Zion" 

On this highway of his Word. 

Now the host m joyful freedom 

And sweet order move along. 
Filled with everlasting glory. 

Sounding loud the victor's song. 
Nearer, nearer to Mount Zion! 

Sorrow, sighing flee away. 
And the strains of angels harping 

Fall upon them all the day. 

More and more the light of heaven 

Drove the shadows from the day; 
Grace and truth were richly given 

All along the shining way. 
Till the pure "beloved city" 

Burst in grandeur on our sight 
That was hid in captive ages 

Till the dawn of evening light. 

Halleluiah! Glory! Glory! 

We have found a sweet release 
From the straps and yokes of Babel, 

From her lords and gruff police; 
Free indeed from all confusion — 

Rent the chains of servitude. 
Free indeed! oh, great salvation! 

Through the blood, the cleansing blood! 

Saved from clamor, sect, and ism, 

From the mold of every creed. 
From the curse of strife and schism; 

Dead to all her mammon greed. 
We defy the hold of devils, 

And despise her patent rules; 
Not a terror in lier councils. 

Not a horn upon her bulls. 



1 Isa. 35 : 8-10. 2 Bph. 2 : 6. 



No Tobiah in the temple 

To defile the holy fane 
And consume the meat oblations 

That unto the priests pertain; 
All his stuff's cast out the chamber, 

And the cleansing is complete. 
No more wedding with Sanballat,3 

Nor can hell again defeat. 

All the breaches in salvation 

Round about Jerusalem 
Are closed up against the nations, 

'Gainst the ites of Babylon. 
Moabs, Arabs, Gog, and Geshem, 

Egypt, Sodom, Horonites, 
Half-bred Ashdods, Sabbath-traders, 

Canaanites and Ammonites. 

So the saints are free forever 

From the fear of beast control; 
To the kings beyond the river 

Pay no tribute, custom, toll; 
Free from foreign intervention. 

Circuit tax and revenue. 
From Sanballat s sect convention 

In the vailey of Ono. 

Free from conference machinations, 

From committee's round of trash, 
From preambles and discussions. 

From the speaker's carnal lash; 
Free from making and revising 

Laws for Babel's stupid god; 
Free from voting, wire-pulling — 

All a pompous empty fraud. 

Not a stone for a foundation 

Nor to lay a corner down 
Did the ransomed carry with them 

From old fallen Cripple Town; 
For their "city hath foundations," 

And her builder God alone; 
Pure as heaven, whence descended. 

And returning to his throne. 

But who is this Holy City, 

As the moon so bright and fair, 
Looking forth in all the glory 

Of the morning sun so clear?! 
Ah! she is the bride of Jesus, 

His own church, arrayed in white. 
Lo, his beauty is upon her. 

And himself her crystal light. 

God is in her, halleluiah! 

And she never shall be moved! 
Jesus Christ is her foundation, 

And her righteoiisne.ss approved. 
All her law is love, and freedom 

Is her balmy atmosphere. 
Far more sweet and blessed than Eden, 

Is her walk with Jesus here. 

All her music is celestial. 

Sang by angels round the throne. 

And then wafted by the Spirit 
To this border-land of home. 

All the ransomed sing together. 



3 Nch. 13: 1. 23, 24. 28. 
1 S. of Sol. 6 : 10. 



POEMS OF RELICTION. 



377 



In angelic harmony, 
By salvation made a unit. 
As in heaven all agree. 

Not a spirit of dissension. 

Nor discordant voice we hear: 
For no alien ever entered 

Nor can ever enter here. 
Christ the door, and his salvation 

Is the way to enter in, 
And through him there's no admission 

Without leaving every sin. 

Jesus is our head and ruler. 

And his Word our only guide. 
And his gentle Spirit leader; 

He our peace — a constant tide. 
Flowing In our tranquil bosom, 

Where is reared tlie mystic throne 
Of tlie King of peace eternal, 

Where he dwells and reigns alone. 

Oh, tlie glorious hope of Zion! 

Oil, the riches of her grace'. 
Kver happy are the people 

Who abide in such a place. 
God is over all in glory, 

And is through them great and small. 
And he's in them by his spirit. 

Jesus! Jesus! All in all! 

Daniel S. Wabneb. 



ELIJAH S INTERVIEW. 

On Horeb's rock tlie prophet stood; 

The Lord before him passed; 
A hurricane in angry mood 

Swept by him strong and fast; 
The forests fell before its force; 
The rocks were shivered in its course. 

God was not in the blast; 
'Twas but the whirlwind of his breath. 
Announcing danger, wreck, and death. 

It ceased; the air grew mute; a cloud 

Came muffling up the sun; 
Wlien through the mountain deep and loud 

An earthquake thundered on; 
The affrighted eagle sprang in air; 
The wolf ran howling from his lair. 

God was not in the storm; 
'Twas but the rolling of his car. 
The trampling of his steeds from far. 

'Twas twilight still, and nature stood 
And calmed her ruffled frame; 

When swift from lieaven a fiery flood 
To earth devouring came; 

Down to the depths the ocean fled; 

The sickening sun looked wan and dead: 
Tet God filled not the flame; 

'Twas but the terror of his eye 

That lightened through the troubled sky. 

At last a voice all still and small 

Rose sweetly on liis ear, 
"Set rose so shrill and clear that all 

In heaven and earth might hear: 



It spoke of peace; it spoke of love; 
It spoke as angels speak above; 

And God himself was there; 
For oh! it was a Father's voice. 
That made the trembling heart rejoice. 
Thomas Campbell. 



HOLY SCRIPTURE. 

Who has this Book and reads It not 

Doth God himself despise: 
Who reads but understandeth not, 

His soul in darkness lies. 

WTio understands, but savors not, 

He finds no rest in trouble; 
^Mio savors but obeyetli not, 

He hath his judgment double. 

^Tio reads this Book, who understands. 

Doth savor and obey. 
His soul shall stand at God's right hand. 

In the great judgment-day. 



AGNES THE MARTYR. 

Young Affnes stood before her judge; 

"Speak! What is this I hear? 
Thine ancient name is flung to shame, 
Thy goods are scattered here and there; 

Speak, if tliy life is dear." 

She lifted up untroubled eyes. 
The sweet face smiled serene; 

White lily leaf, untouched by grief. 

Has never worn a fairer sheen 
Blooming the thorns between. 

She said: "I bear a new, strange name. 

That none on earth may know. 
My cups of ore, my golden store. 
Have fed my sisters, poor and old, 
And love is more than gold." 

They linked her small hands one to one, 

In iron fetters fast; 
In girlisli glee, right playfully 
Her hands from out the links she passed 

And down the fetters cast. 

The judge looked on; "Renounce this faith; 

I know there waiteth thee 
In royal grace, a bridegroom's face. 
Thy form is fair, thy spirit free. 

As Roman girl's should be." 

She turned to the unclouded east 
With face as free from cloud; 

"The Bridegroom waits by pearl-built 
gates." 

The rest she did not speak aloud. 
Yet hushed to awe the crowd. 

Beckoned the judge; tlie steel blue sword 

Flashed in a man's strong hand: 
As one content, her head she bent. 



378 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And, kneeling gently on the sand, 
Smiled on the band. 

From small round throat she drew aside 

Each clustering golden curl; 
Spoke but one word — "My Christ, my Lord." 
The sword gleamed down; there lay the 
girl. 

Earth's fairest, purest pearl. 

O girls, who wear St. Agnes' face. 

As fair, as pure as she, 
Keep faith unstrained, keep soul unstained. 
And live your lives as perfectly, 

That yours her heaven may be. 

Ellen Mchrat. 



JESUS PRAYS. 

'Tis midnight; and on Olive's brow 

The star is dimmed that lately shone; 

'Tis midnight; in the garden now 
The suffering Savior prays alone. 

'Tis midnight; and, from all removed. 
The Savior wrestles lone with fears; 

Even that disciple whom he loved 

Heeds not his Master's grief and tears. 

'Tis midnight; and, for others' guilt. 
The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood; 

Yet he who hath in anguish knelt 
Is not forsaken by his God. 

'Tis midnight; and from ether plains 
Is borne the song that angels know; 

Unheard by mortals are the strains 
That sweetly soothe the Savior's woe. 

WILLL4M B. TAPPAN. 



HEAVENLY TREASURE. 

WTiat I spent I had; 
What I kept I lost; 
Wliat I gave 1 have! — Old Epitaph. 

Every coin of earthly treasure 

We have lavished upon earth, 
For our simple worldly pleasure. 

May be reckoned something worth; 
For the spending was not losing. 

Though the purcliase was but small; 
It has perished with tlie using; 

We have had it — that is all! 

All the gold we leave behind us 

When we turn to dust again. 
Though our avarice may blind us. 

We have gathered quite in vain: 
Since we neither ran direct it. 

By the winds of fortune tossed. 
And no other worlds expect it. 

What we hoarded we have lost! 

But each merciful oblation, 
Seed of pity wisely sown— 



What we give in self-negation 
We may safely call our own; 

For the treasure freely given 
Is the treasure that we hoard, 

Since the angels keep, in heaven 
What is lent unto the Lord! 






MATTHEW XXVI: XXX. 

'■.\nrl when they bad suDg an bymn, they went 
out." 

The sun hath gilded Judah's hills 

With Ills last gorgeous beam; 
Ghostlike the still gray mists arise 

From Jordan's sacred stream; 
The stars, bright flowers of the sky, 

Unfold their beauties now 
And gaze on Salem's marble fane, 

By Olivet's dark brow; 
In David's city sound is hushed 

And tread of busy feet, 
For solemnly liis sons have met 

The paschal lamb to eat. 
But list! the silenco of the hour 

Is broken; the still air 
A melody hath caught which far 

Its viewless pinions bear. 
Unwonted sweetness liath the strain, 

And as its numbers flow. 
More tender and more touching yet 

Its harmony doth grow. 
Not royal David's tuneful harp 

Such thrilling power had known 
To wake deep echoes in the soul. 

At its scarce earthly tone. 
Within an "upper room" are met 

A small yet faithful band. 
On whom a deep yet ciiastened grief 

Hath laid its softening hand. 
Among tliem there is One who wears 

A more than mortal mien; 
'Tis He on wliom in all distress 

The weary one may lean. 
Mysterious sadness on that brow 

So pure and calm doth lie. 
And untold stores of deepest love 

Are beaming from His eye. 
^\^lat wonder if the strain was sweet 

Above all other lays? 
Seraphic well might seem the hymn 

■WHiich .lesus' voice did raise. 
The angels hush their lyres and bend 

To hear the thrilling tone, 
And heaven is silent — with that song 

They mingle not their own. 
The sorrowing ones around have heard 

Their blessed Master tell 
That he with them no longer now 

As heretofore may dwell; 
And they lave sadly shared with him 

The last, last evening meal, 
And heard the last sweet comfort which 

Their mourning Iiearts may heal. 
They do not know the fearful storm 

Which on Iiis liead must burst; 
They know not all — he hath not told 

His loving ones the worst. 
How could he? Kven an angels mind 

Could never comprehend 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



37 fy 



The weight of woe 'neatli which for us 

The Savior's liead must bend; 
Erelong the voice which walieth now 

Such touching melody 
Shall cry, "My God! my God! oh! why 

Hast thou forsaken me?" 
The hour is come; but ere they meet 

Its terrors, yet once more 
Their voices blend with his who sang 

As none ever sang before. 
Why do they linger on that note? 

TMiy thus the sound prolong? 
Ah, 'twas the last! 'Tis ended now. 

That strangely solemn song. 
And forth they go. The song is past; 

But, like the roseleaf, still, 
Whose fragrance doth not die away. 

Its soft, low echoes thrill 
Through many a soul, and there awake 

New strains of glowing praise 
To htm who, on that fateful eve. 

That last sweet hymn did raise. 

Frances Ridlet Hatergal. 



MR. SKEPTICAL S EXPERIENCE. 



Part I. 
Part n 



How He Became an Infidel. 
How He Became Converted, 



Part I. 
Since the question you have asked me, 

Why it is I "don't believe," 
I will give a candid answer, 

Though your feelings it may grieve. 

Oft when young I read my Bible, 
And its teachings sounded plain, 

But I looked for their reflection 
In professors oft in vain. 

Father was a strict professor, 

Went to church without restraint, 

But at home a perfect terror — 

"Week-day sinner," "Sunday saint." 

Deacon Puff, in tones sepulchral. 
Was esteemed a power in prayer. 

But would cheat a man in business. 
Oft "get mad," and sometimes swear. 

"Sister Tryto," so they called her. 

Living just across the way. 
Talked like fury of her neighbors, 

"Lost her temper' every day. 

Once I went to a class-meeting 
Just to hear what they would say; 

Here they talked of "tribuiations" 
In a sad and doleful way; 

Said they did the "things they snouldn't," 
"Left undone what they should do," 

But they "hoped to get the wages 
That were to the faithful due"; 

Talked about their "good desires," 

"Crooked paths" and "wanderings" too, 

"Hopes" of dodging wrath eternal 

When at last their "trials" were through. 



"My!" I thought, "if tliat's religion. 

Guess that I have got it, too; 
For, as sure as I'm a sinner. 

That is just the way I do." 

Neighbor Partisan on Sunday, 
Like a saint, to God would pray. 

For the coming of His kingdom, 
But would vote the other way. 

Steward Filthy talked with pathos 

Of the heathen's bitter woe. 
But his money for tobacco 

Ten to one would yearly go. 

"Sister Pride" — they called her sister — 
Wilful spurned her vows aside. 

And, adorned in gold and satin. 
Sought in state to heaven ride. 

If the joys and satisfaction 

In religion so abound. 
Can you tell me why professors 

At the stage and dance are found? 

Why the theater and circus 

Claim so oft a larger share 
Than the missionary meeting 

And the place of public prayer? 

If by free-will giving only. 

As the Bible oft declares, 
Tou should meet your church expenses, 

Whence your frolics and your fairs? 

By the tricks and strange proceedings 
Vou employ our gold to seek. 

We outsiders are persuaded 
That your God is very weak. 

Plaudit-seeking, pleasure-loving. 
Heedless of the poor man's cry. 

Many ministers are famous 

For their powers on — chicken pie. 

I have fished and hunted with them. 
Listened to their stories droll, 

But they seldom ever hinted 
At the "peril" of my soul. 

To my mind the Bible teaches 

Certain things that man must do 

To inherit life eternal 
And receive a spirit new; 

But professors by their actions 

Give to all of this the lie: 
So I am an unbeliever: 

Now you have the reasons why. 

Part II. 
Pastor Faithful, glad to greet you! 

Many years have passed away 
Since we had that conversation. 

And our heads are getting gray. 

How my views I came to alter 
Tou would like to have me state? 

Well, I will with greatest pleasure. 
As you ask, the facts relate. 



5 8U 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



As the years advanced, the harder 

Grew my lieart in unbelief, 
Till it finally was liumbled 

By a great and piercing grief. 

In the furnace of affliction 

I was placed for many days; 
Thus, at last, I was awakened; 

God alone shall have the praise. 

Then I saw my lost condition 

And how foolish I had been. 
Just because of others' failures. 

To continue on in sin. 

Though I seldom had confessed it. 

Some I all along had known 
Whom I felt were true and faithful; 

This I was compelled to own. 

First of all, the Christian living 

Of a mother firm and true. 
Spoilt my skeptical conclusions. 

Just as nothing else could do. 

Next to that the testimonies 
Of the power of .saving grace. 

Made a permanent Impression, 
Wliich I never coulJ erase. 

Then I met some joyful Cnristians, 
So unlike the mournful kind, 

That so long and very sorely 

Had perplexed my doubting mind. 

Sometimes, too, an earnest pastor 
Called and warned ma faithfully, 

Preaching Christ and coming Judgment 
And the great eternity. 

All these agencies the Spirit 

Pressed with power upon my heart. 
Till he through and tlirough had pierced me 

With conviction's pointed dart. 

All the agony I suffered 

In those moments, none can tell; 

Hopeless of the joys of heaven, 
Threatened with the woes of hell, 

Sleep forsook my wakeful eyelids; 

AH my sins appeared to rise 
Like so many mighty mountains. 

Right before my very eyes. 

Then I tried to pray for mercy, 

But no prayer my lips wou.ld say; 

Then I sent for Neighbor Pious, 
■W^hom I knew had power to pray. 

For I knew he had religion. 
Just the kind the Bible taught; 

Had I watciied him late and early 
Twenty years or more for naught? 

Well, he came, and such a meeting 

I had never seen before, 
As I kneeled, in deep contrition. 

With him on the chamber floor. 



All my sins I there abandoned, 
Yielding all without reserve. 

And the world, the flesh, tiie devil 
Vowing never more to serve. 

Then by faith I saw my Savior 
And his wondrous love for me; 

Like a slave with fetters sundered. 
In an instant I was free. 

Soon the witness of the Spirit 
To my own was freely given, 

Testifying to my pardon 

And my title clear to heaven. 

Then my pastor preached a sermon 
Which made very clear and plain 

How on earth a full salvation 
Every child of God may gain. 

That was just the kind I wanted 
And believed the Bible taught; 

So I made the consecration 
And the blessed fulness sought 

While I see m.v former folly 

And lament it every hour. 
Still it grieves me that so many 

"Have a form without the power.' 

And I want to be so faithful 

That I never thus will be 
Such a stumbling-block to others 

As professors were to me. 



NOT YET. 

John !.•) ; 7. 
Not yet thou knowest what I do, 

O feeble child of earth. 
Whose life is but to angel view 

The morning of thy birth! 
The smallest leaf, the simplest flower. 

The wild bee's honey-celj, 
Have lessons of My love and power 

Too hard for thee to spell. 

Thou knowest not how I uphold 

The little thou dost scan, 
And how much less canst thou unfold 

My universal plan. 
Where all thy mind can grasp of space 

Is but a grain of sand; 
The time thy boldest thought can trace. 

One ripple on the strand. 

Not yet thou knowest what I do 

In this wild, warring world. 
Whose prince doth still triumphant view 

Confusion's flag unfurled; 
Nor how each proud and daring thought 

Is subject to My will. 
Each strong and secret purpose brought 

My counsel to fulfil. 

Not yet thou knowest how I bid 

Each passing hour entwine 
Its grief or joy, its hope or fear. 

In one great love-design; 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



381 



Nor how I lead thee through the night, 

By many a various way, 
Still upward to unclouded light, 

And onward to the day. 

Not yet thou knowest what I do 

Within thine own weak breast, 
To mold thee to My image true, 

And fit the© for My rest 
But yield thee to My loving skill; 

The veiled work of grace, 
From day to day progressing still — 

It is not thine to trace. 

Yes, walk by faith and not by sight. 

Fast clinging to My hand; 
Content to feel My love and might. 

Not yet to understand. 
A little while thy course pursue. 

Till grace to glory grow; 
Then what I am and what I do. 

Hereafter thou shalt know. 

FlliNCES RiDLET HAVEBGAL. 



THE PURE TESTIMONY. 

The pure testimony, put forth in the Spirit, 

Cuts like a sharp two-edged sword; 
And hypocrites now are most sorely tor- 
mented, 
Because they're condemned by the Word. 
The pure testimony discovers the dross, 
TATiile wicked professors make light of the 

cross, 
And Babylon trembles for fear of her loss. 

The time is now come for the church to be 

gathered 
Into the one Spirit of God, 
Baptized by one Spirit into the one body, 

Partaking Christ's flesh and his blood. 
They drink in one Spirit, which makes 

them all see 
They're one in Christ Jesus, wherever they 

be. 
The Jew and the Gentile, the bond and 

the free. 

Then, blow ye the trumpet, in pure tes- 
timony. 
And let the world hear it again. 

Oh! come ye from Babylon, Egypt, and 
Sodom, 
And make your way over the plain; 

Come wash all your robes in the blood of 
the Lamb, 

And walk in the Spirit throu.gh Christ Je- 
sus' name; 

Through the pure testimony you will over- 
come. 

The world will not persecute those who are 
like them. 
But hold them the same as their own; 
The pure testimony cries out separation, 

Which causes false teachers to frown. 
Come out from foul spirits and practises 
too. 



The track of your Savior keep still in your 

view; 
The pure testimony will cut Us way 

through. 

A battle is coming between the two king- 
doms, 
The armies are gathering around; 
The pure testimony and vile persecution 

Will come to close contest erelong. 
Then, gird on your armor, ye saints of the 

Lord, 
And he will direct you by his loving word; 
The pure testimony will cut like a sword. 

The great prince of darkness is muster- 
ing his forces 
To make you his prisoners again, 

By slanders, reproaches, and vile perse- 
cutions. 
That you in his cause may remain. 

Then, shun his temptations, wherever they 
lie. 

And fear not his servants, whatever they 
say; 

The pure testimony will give you the day. 



JESUS WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. 

'Tis evening; over Salem's towers 

A golden luster gleams, 
And lovingly and lingeringly 

The sun prolongs his beams. 
He looks, as on some work undone, 

For which the time has past; 
So tender is his glance and mild. 

It seems to be his last. 

But a brighter Sun is looking on. 

More earnest is his eye, 
For thunder-clouds will vail him soon. 

And darken all the sky. 
O'er Zion still he bends, as loath 

His presence to remove. 
And on her walls there lingers yet 

The sunshine of his love. 

'Tis Jesus. With an anguished heart, 

A parting glance he throws. 
For mercy's day she's sinned away 

For a night of dreadful woes. 
"Would that thou hadst known," he said. 

While down rolled many a tear, 
"My words of peace in this thy day! 

But now thine end is near. 

"Alas for thee, Jerusalem! 

How cold thy heart to me! 
How often in these arms of love 

Would I have gathered thee! 
My sheltering wing had been your shield. 

My love your happy lot; 
I would it had been thus with tliee — 

I would, but ye would not." 

He wept alone, and men passed on — 
The men whose sins he bore: 

They saw the Man of sorrows weep; 
They'd seen him weep before. 



382 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



They asked not whom those tears were for; 

They asked not whence they flowed: 
Those tears were for rebellious man; 

Their source, the heart of God; 

They fell upon this desert earth, 

Like drops from heaven on high. 
Struck from an ocean-side of love 

That fills eternity. 
With love and tenderness divine 

Those crystal cells overflow; 
'Tis God that weeps, through human eyes. 

For human guilt and woe. 

That hour has fled, those tears are told, 

The agony is past, 
The Lord has wept, the Lord has bled. 

But he s not loved his last: 
For yet his eye is downward bent. 

Still ranging to and fro, 
Wlierever in this wide wilderness 

There roams the child of woe. 

Nor his alone, the Three in One, 

Who looked through Jesus' eye, 
Could still the harps of angel bands. 

To hear the suppliant sigh; 
And when the rebel chooses wrath, 

God mourns his hapless lot, 
Deep breathing from His heart of love, 

"I would, but ye would not." 



RUTH AND NAOMI. 

The hand of God in chastisement 

Is laid on sad Naomi's head; 
Her two brave sons and husband true 

Are gathereu with the countless dead. 

The helpmeets of her sons remain 
To cheer her dark and woful day; 

In memory of the bonds of kin — 
Will they desert, or with her stay? 

"My daughters dear, we now must part. 

For I no more can profit thee; 
The treasures that the Lord bestowed 

Are all removed for aye from me." 

Kind Orpah kissed the mother old 
And bid her be of hopeful cheer. 

Then started for her native plains. 
As down her cheek there stole a tear. 

But Ruth, sweet Ruth, in tender love 

Naomi to her bosom drew; 
"Entreat me not to now turn back, 

For I will ever stay with you. 

"Thy people shall my people be; 

To thy true God I fain would fly: 
I'll lodge with thee 'neath humble roof; 

And where thou diest I will die. 

"My strong young arms will toil for thee; 

Thy age shall not be comfortless; 
And God, thy God whom thou dost love. 

Will not forget, but surely bless. 



"I would know more of Abram's God, 
And serve him each remaining day; 

For well I know the heathen gods 

Are dumb and blind as shapeless clay." 

Jehovah saw, and heard, and loved 
The tender, faithful daughter Ruth ; 

Among her seed, by long descent. 

Was Christ, the Lord of grace and truth. 

ROBEUT ROTHMAN. 



THE BACKSLIDER. 

Once I was happy; salvation was mine; 
Heaven seemed round me with glory divine; 
Deep in my soul was a fountain of joy. 
Pure and unfailing and free from alloy: 
But I have broken my promise to God, 
And in my sin o'er his mercy I trod; 
I have been captured in Satan's dark snare. 
Led to the brink of eternal despair. 

I can no longer this great burden bear 
When I remember sweet -loments of prayer, 
Wlien the dear Savior seemed ever so near, 
Wliispering softly: "There's nothing to 

fear; 
Only keep trusting; I'll never forsake. 
Only obey, then no harm shall o'ertake." 
But I have wandered so far from the 

light; 
I am an outcast and roaming tonight. 

Pleasure allured me and whispered: "You'll 

find 
Joys that are greater and friends far more 

kind; 
If you but follow me where I will lead, 
Tou shall have pleasure and solace indeed." 
But when I followed she led me astray 
Far from the light of that glorious day 
Where Jesus' presence had filled me with 

light: 
All, all is darkness and misery tonight. 

Since from the Savior I wandered away, 
I have no pleasure by night or by day; 
Thoughts of the future so fill me with 

dread 
Even in laughter my spirit is sad. 
There is a weight that is crushing my soul; 
Over me ever the dark billows roll — 
Waves of such darkness that shut out the 

light— 
Oh, I am wretched, so wretched tonight! 

Lord, in my misery to thee I will turn; 
My weak petition from thee do not spurn; 
Take this great burden of guilt all away. 
That is so heavy by night and by day; 
Give in my soul the sweet peace as of 

yore, 
When all my sorrows and griefs Jesus 

bore. 
When he did save me from sin's awful 

blight; 
Restore me again to thy favor tonight. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



383 



Lord. I have sinned; in tliy mercy forgive; 
Save me. oil. save me; by thy grace let me 

live. 
I will this moment forsake every sin, 
Turn from the follies in which I have been; 
Wilt thou receive me, O Lord, in my need? 
Nothing of self, but thy mercy. I plead. 
Hearken, I pray, to the words of my prayer; 
Save ere I sink to the depths of despair. 

C. W. N'AYLOE. 



JOYS THAT SINNERS KNOW NOT. 

The sinner's nature, gross and hard and 

blind, 
Is dead to many pains that hearts refined 
And blessed with higher life in Christ en- 
dure; 
But dead, alasl likewise, to all the pure. 
Eternal joys that flood the heart enshrined 
With Jesus Christ, his peace, and heav- 
enly mind. 
He is oblivious to that holy love 
That 'quaints us with the bliss enjoyed 

above. 
So while increase of life involves some 

pain. 
Its sphere enlarged, enhances all our gain, 
"^lio'd amputate a strong and healthy limb 
Lest some mosciuitoes on it light and sting? 
Or who dethrone his noble intellect 
Because some mental griefs we may ex- 
pect? 

Daniel S. Warxeb. 



AGAINST A THORN. 

Once I heard a song of sweetness 

As it cleft the morning air. 
Sounding in its blessed completeness 

Like a tender, pleading prayer; 
And I sought to find the singer 

Whence the wondrous song was borne. 
And I found a bird, sore wounded. 

Pinioned by a cruel thorn. 

I have seen a soul in sadness. 

While its wings with pain v.-ere furled. 
Giving hope and cheer and gladness, 

That should bless a weeping world; 
And I knew that life of sweetness 

Was of pain and sorrow born. 
And a stricken soul was singing. 

With its breast against a thorn. 

Te are told of One who loved you. 

Of a Savior crucified; 
Te are told of nails that pinioned 

And a spear that pierced his side; 
Te are told of cruel scourging, 

Of a Savior bearing scorn; 
And he died for your salvation. 

With his brow against a thorn 

Te are "not above the Master"; 

Will you breathe a sweet refrain? 
And his grace will be sufficient 



Wlien your heart is pierced with pain. 
Will you live to bless his loved ones. 

Though your life be bruised and torn, 
Like the bird that sang so sweetly. 

With its breast against a thorn? 



MATTHEW XIV: XXIII. 

It is the quiet evening time; the sun is 
in the west; 

And earth enrobed in purple glow awaits 
lier nightly rest; 

The shadows of the mountain peaks are 
lengthening over the sea. 

And the flowerets close their eyelids on the 
shore of Galilee. 

Tlie multitude are gone away; their rest- 
less hum doth cease; 

The birds have hushed their music, and all 
is calm and peace; 

But on the lonely mountain side is Cme 
whose beauteous brow 

The impress bears of sorrow and of weari- 
ness even now. 

The livelong day in deeds of love and 
power he hath spent, 

And with them words of grace and life 
hath ever sweetly blent. 

Xow he hath gained the mountain top; he 
standeth all alone; 

No mortal may be near Him in that hour of 
prayer unknown. 

He prayeth — but for whom? For himself 
he needeth naught; 

Nor strength, nor peace, nor pardon, where 
of sin there is no spot; 

But 'tis for us in powerful prayer he spend- 
eth all the night. 

That his own loved ones may be kept and 
strengthened in the flght: 

That they may all be sanctified and per- 
fect made in one; 

That they his glory may behold where 
they shall need no sun; 

That in eternal gladness they may be his 
glorious bride: 

It is for this that he hath climbed the 
lonely mountainside; 

It is for this that he denies his weary 
head the rest 

Which even the foxes in their holes and 
birds have in their nest. 

The echo of that prayer hath died upon the 
rocky hill; 

But on a higher, holier mount that voice is 
pleading still; 

For while one weary child of his yet wan- 
ders here below. 

While yet one thirsting soul desires his 
peace and love to know. 

And while one fainting spirit seeks his holi- 
ness to share, 

The Savior's loving heart shall pour a tide 
of mighty prayer; 

Tes! till each ransomed one hath gained 
his home of joy and peace. 

That fount of blessings all untold shall 
never, never cease. 

Frances Ridlet Havbbij4l. 



384 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GETHSEMANE. 

In golden youth, when seems the earth 
A summer land of singing mirth, 
When souls are glad and hearts are light. 
And not a shadow lurks in sight, — 
We do not know it, but there lies 
Somewhere under evening skies 
A garden which we all must see — 
The garden of Gethsemane. 

With joyous steps we go our ways; 
Love lends a hallow to our days; 
Light sorrows sail like clouds afar; 
We laugh and say, "How strong we are!" 
We hurry on, and Iiurrying go 
Close to the border-land of woe, 
That waits for you and waits for me — 
Forever waits Gethsemane. 

Down shadowy lanes, across strange 

streams 
Bridged over by our broken dreams, 
Behind the misty caps of years, 
Beyond the great salt fount of tears, 
The garden lies. Strive as you may. 
You can not miss it in your way; 
All paths that have been or shall be 
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane. 

All those who journey, soon or late 
Must pass within the garden's gate, 
Must kneel alone in darkness there 
And battle with some fierce despair. 
God pity those who can not say, 
"Not mine, but thine": who only pray, 
"Let this cup pass," and can not see 
The purpose in Gethsemane! 



PASSING UNDER THE ROD. 

I saw a young bride, in her beauty and 
pride. 
Bedecked in her snowy array; 
And the bright flush of joy mantled high 
on her clieek. 
And the future looked blooming and gay; 
And with woman's devotion she laid her 
fond heart 
At the shrine of idolatrous love 
And she anchored her liopes to this perish- 
ing earth 
By the chain which her tenderness wove. 
But I saw when those heartstrings were 
bleeding and torn, 
And the chain had been severed in two; 
Slie had changed lier wliite robes for the 
sables of grief, 
And her bloom for the paleness of woe! 
But the Healer was there, pouring balm on 
her heart 
And wiping the tears from her eyes; 
And he strengthened the chain he had 
broken in twain. 
And fastened it firm to the skies. 
There had wliispered a voice — -'twas the 

voice of her God — • 
"I love thee, I love thee! Pass under the 
rod!" 



I saw a young mother in tenderness bend 

O'er the couch of her slumbering boy. 
And she kissed the soft lips a.s they mur- 
mured her name, 
Wliile the dreamer lay smiling in joy. 
Oh, sweet as the rosebud encircled with 
dew. 
When its fragrance is flung on the air. 
So fresh and so bright to that mother he 
seemed 
As he lay in his innocence there. 
But I saw wlien she gazed on the same 
lovely form. 
Pale as marble, and silent, and cold, 
But paler and colder her beautiful boy. 

And the tale of her sorrow was told! 
But the Healer was tliere who had stricken 
her heart 
And taken lier treasure away: 
To allure her to heaven he has placed it 
on high, 
And the mourner will sweetly obey. 
There had whispered a voice — 'twas tlie 

voice of her God — 
"I love thee, I love thee! Pass under the 
rod!" 

I saw a fond brother, with glances of love, 

viazing down on a gentle young girl. 
And she hung on his arm and breathed soft 
in his ear, 
As he played with each graceful curl. 
Oh, he loved the sweet tones of her silvery 
voice, 
Let her use it in sadness or glee: 
And he twined his arms round her delicate 
form. 
As she sat in the eve on his knee. 
But I saw when lie gazed on her death- 
stricken face. 
And she breathed not a word in his ear. 
And lie clasped his arms round an icy-cold 
form. 
And he moistened her cheek with a tear: 
But the Healer was there and he said to 
him tlius; 
"Grieve not for thy sister's short life," 
And he gave to his arms still another fair 
girl. 
And he made her his own cherished wife. 
There had whispered a voice — 'twas the 

voice of his God — 
"I love thee, I love thee! Pass under the 
rod!" 

I saw, too, a father and mother who leaned 

On the arms of a dear gifted son, 
And the star in the future grew bright to 
their gaze 
As they saw the proud place he had won; 
And the fast-coming evening of life prom- 
ised fair. 
And its pathway grew smooth to their 
feet. 
And the starlight of love glimmered bright 
at the end. 
And the whispers of fancy were sweet. 
And I saw them again, bending low o'er 
th e grave, 
Where their hearts' dearest hopes had 
been laid. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



385 



And the star had gone down in the dark- 
ness of night, 
And the Joy from their bosoms had fled; 
But the Healer was there, and his arms 
were around. 
And he led them with tenderest care, 
And he showed them a star in the bright 
upper world; 
'Twas their star shining brilliantly there. 
They had each heard a voice — 'twas the 

voice of their God — 
"I love thee, I love thee! Pass under the 
rod!" 

Mabt S. B. Dana. 



THE LORD IS RISEN. 

How calm and beautiful the morn 

That gilds the sacred tomb. 
Where once the Crucified was borne 

And veiled in midnight gloom! 
Oh, weep no more the Savior slain! 
The Lord is risen — he lives again! 

Te mourning saints, dry every tear 

For your departed Lord; 
"Behold the place; he is not here!" 

The tomb is all unbarred; 
The gates of death were closed in vain; 
The Lord is risen — he lives again! 

Now cheerful to the house of prayer 

Tour early footsteps bend; 
The Savior will himself be there. 

Tour Advocate and Friend. 
Oh, weep no more your comforts slain! 
The Lord is risen — he lives again! 

Thomas Hasting.s. 



HE GIVETH HIS LOVED ONES SLEEP. 

He sees when their footsteps falter, when 
their hearts grow weak and faint; 

He marks when their strength is failing, 
and listens to each complaint; 

He bids them rest for a season, for the 
pathway has grown too steep; 

And, folded in fair, green pastures. 
He giveth his loved ones sleep. 

Like weary and worn-out children, that 

sigh for the daylight's close. 
He knows that they oft are longing for 

.home and its sweet repose; 
So he calls them m from their labors, ere 

the shadows round them creep. 
And, silently watching o'er them. 

He giveth his loved ones sleep. 

He giveth it, oh, so gently! as a mother 
will hush to rest 

The babe that she softly pillows so ten- 
derly on her breast. 

Forgotten are now the trials and sorrows 
that made them weep. 

For with many a soothing promise 
He giveth his loved ones sleep. 



He giveth it! Friends the dearest can 

never this boon bestow: 
But he touches the drooping eyelids, and 

placid the features grow! 
Their foes may gather about them, and 

storms may round them sweep. 
But, guarding them safe from danger. 
He giveth his loved ones sleep. 

All dread of the distant future, all fears 

that oppress today. 
Like mists that oppose the sunlight, have 

noiselessly passed away. 
Xo call nor clamor can rouse them from 

.slumbers so pure and deep. 
For only his voice can reach tliem. 

Who giveth his loved ones sleep- 
Weep not that their toils are over; weop 

not that their race is run; 
God grant we may rest as calmly when our 

work, like theirs, is done! 
Till then we would yield with gladness our 

treasures to him to keep. 
And rejoice in the sweet assurance — 
He giveth his loved ones sleep. 



THROWING INK AT THE DEVIL. 

[TIio "point wUere lightning tracks lie crossing*' 
means Grand Junction, Micli., where, at the time 
this i^oem was written, was located the pxiljlicatlon 
office of The Gospel Trumpet, el reli^ous periodical.! 

At Wartburg Castle sat a son of thunder 

Dealing Heaven's dynamite, 
■Wlien, lo! before him 'peared an apparition, 

Fury threatening demon sight. 

The piercing words of truth, so long be- 
smothered. 

Flashed the burning wrath upon 
The devil's patent monk and pope religion, 

■Which confronts the dread reform. 



Before the dauntless, lion-hearted Luther 

Forth the hellish monster stood. 
Drawn from his prison by the scattering 
tlieses 
Gainst the Romish viper brood. 

He lifted up his eyebrows knit with thun- 
der. 
To the hellish specter said, 
With stern address, "Du bist der wahre 
Teufel!"— 
Hurls an inkstand at his head. 

The Doctor's splattering old missile, prov- 
ing potent, 

Drove old Satan from his door; 
But ink he threw on paper at the devil 

Battered down his kingdom more. 



Thus chafed to anger like a beast of fury 
When denied a skulking den. 

And tantalized by thunderbolts of fire, 
Satan writhed within his pen. 



386 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



At last he breaks the chains of self-pos- 
session, 

Doth his best what time he hath. 
Well knowing that he's but a little season, 

Comes he forth in utmost wrath. 

Now loosed, his imps over all this earth 
are swarming. 

But retreating toward the brink, 
Driven back by truth in thunder rolling, 

And the rapid flying ink. 

Not now, as did the sturdy Wittenberger 
Fling his inkstand at the foe. 

But by the mighty force of steam, much 
faster 
We the battle-ink can throw. 

Just at a point where lightning tracks lie 
crossing, 

Northward, southward, east, and west. 
The Lord has planted his revolving cannon. 

Firing ink at Satan's crest. 

This enginery by modern skill constructed. 

Hath strong capacious founts, 
■Rliere ink, by rollers to and fro conducted. 

Into ammunition counts. 

The ink rolls over ten thousand silent 
voices. 
All in rank and file complete; 
When touched, each one prepares his trump 
for sounding. 
But, refraining, tells the sheet. 

The sheets borne round by cylindric suc- 
cession. 
Take the type's impressive kiss. 
Inspiring them with love and truth's great 
mission. 
And salvation's perfect bliss. 

Then swifter than the flight of holy angels. 

Into thousands multiply 
The sheets, all lit with heaven's truth and 
mercy, 

And through all the earth they fly. 

Not only toward the main fourwinds of 
heaven 
Sin-consuming ink is shot. 
But right and left in force, 'tis outward 
given. 
Striking sin in every spot. 

WHien round "Mansoul" Immanuel plants 
his army. 
To retake the famous town. 
On "eye-gate" hill he plants this mighty 
engine. 
Till surrendered to his crown. 

If chance a pilgrim's shield of faith is 
drooping. 
And his heart with fear oppressed: 
Then comes the ink-winged angel, trum- 
pet sounding. 
And his soul anew is blessed. 

Daniel S. Warneb. 



DE MASSA OB DE SHEEPFOL*. 

[An eminent critic has said that, disregarding its 
dialect, this poem is one of the most beautiful in tho 
English language. ] 

De massa ob de sheepfol," 
Dat guard de sheepfol' bin. 

Look out in de gioomerin' meadows 
■niiar de long night rain begin; 

So he called to de hirelin' shepa'd, 
"Is my sheep, is dey all come in?" 

Oh, den says de hirelin' shepa'd, 
"Dey's some, dey's black and thin. 

And some dey's po' ol' wedders; 
But de res' dey's all brung in; 
But de res' dey's all brung in." 

Den de massa ob de sheepfol', 

Dat guard de sheepfol' bin. 
Goes down in de gioomerin' meadows 

Whar de long night rain begin; 
So he let down de ba's ob de sheepfol' 

Callin' sof, "Come in! Come in!" 

Callin" sof, "Come in! Come in!" 

Den up tro" de gioomerin' meadows, 

Tro' de col' night rain an' win'. 
An' up tro' de gioomerin' rain-pat, 

Maiar de sleet fa' piercin' thin, 
De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', 

Dey all comes gadderin' in! 
De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', 

Dey all comes gadderin' in! 

Sallib Pratt McClean. 



4 
4 



NOT YOUR OWN. 

"Not your own!" but His ye are. 
Who hath paid a price untold 
For your life, exceeding far 

All earth's store of gems and 
Witli the precious blood of Christ, 
Ransom treasure all unpriced. 
Full redemption is procured. 
Full salvation is assured. 

"Not your own!" but his by right. 

His peculiar treasure now. 
Fair and precious in liis sight. 
Purchased jewels for his brow. 
He will keep what thus he sought. 
Safely guard tlie dearly bought. 
Cherish that whicli he did choose, 
Always love and never lose. 

"Not your own!" but his, the King; 

His, the Lord of earth and sky; 
His, to whom archangels bring 

Homage deep and praises high 
What can royal birth bestow? 
Or the proudest titles show? 
Can such dignity be known 
As the glorious name, "His own"? 

"Not your own!" to him ye ow;e 
All your life and all your love; 

Live, that he his praise may show. 
Who is yet all praise above. 



gold. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



387 



Every day and every hour. 
Every gift and every power. 
Consecrate to him alone 
Wlio hath claimed you for his own. 

Teach us, Master, how to give 
All we have and are to thee: 

Grant us. Savior, while we live, 
Wholly, only, thine to be. 

Henceforth be our calling high 

Thee to serve and glorify; 

Ours no longer, but thine own. 

Thine forever, thine alone I 

FEAXCES RlDLEt HiVEEGiL. 



THE WORLDLING AND THE SAINT. 

THE WORLDLING. 

A lady fair swept through the lane 
With stately step, air of disdain. 
With rustling silken garments clad, 
Light at heart — and yet not glad 
She saw not hunger, want, nor stress 
Of those who at her feet did press; 
And though so richly clad and fair. 
Before her Lord her soul stood bare, 
For his eye sees the hidden parts 
And rightly reads our human hearts. 

THE SAIXT. 

Another followed through the press, 
So humbly clad in simple dress. 
Yet round her smile a radiance clung 
And in her heart a vesper sung. 
She stretched a helping hand to all 
And heard the farthest, faintest call. 
Forgetting self in her great love 
For Him who watched her from above. 
And lo, arrayed in linen bright, 
She stood in priestly robes of white, 
Well-pleasing to the One above. 
Who dwelt there in that heart of love. 
NELLiB Olson. 



BABYLON IS FALLEN. 

Hail the day so long expected! 

Hail the year of full release! 
Zion's walls are now erected, 

And the watchmen live in peace. 
From the distant courts of Zion, 

The shrill trumpets loudly roar, 
"Bab'lon's fallen, fallen, fallen; 

Bab'lon's to rise no more." 

Hark and hear the people crying; 

See the city disappear; 
Trade and trafBc all are dying; 

Lo. they sink to rise no more. 
Merchants who have bought her traffic. 

Crying from a distant shore, 
"Bab'lon's fallen, fallen, fallen; 

Bab'lon's to rise no more." 



All her merchants cry with wonder, 

"What is this that comes to pass?" 
Murm'ring like a distant thunder, 

Crying, "Oh! Alas! Alas!" 
Swell the sound, ye kings and nobles. 

Priests and people, rich and poor, 
•'Bab'lon's fallen, fallen, fallen; 

Bab'lon's to rise no more." 

Lo! her captains are returning, 

Up to Zion see them fly. 
•UHiile the heavenly host rejoicing. 

Shout and echo through the sky. 
See the ancients of the city, 

Terrified at the uproar, 
"Bab'lon's fallen, fallen, fallen; 

Bab'lon's to rise no more." 

Tune your harps, ye heavenly choir; 

Shout, ye followers of the Lamb; 
See the city all on fire; 

Clap your hands and blow the flame. 
Now's the day of compensation; 

Hope and mercy now are o'er; 
"Bab'lon's fallen, fallen, fallen; 

Bab'lon's to rise no more." 



EVENING LIGHT. 

How blessed the time of evening light. 
The glorious setting of the sun! 

All earth seems now sublime and bright; 
The day's hard toil is nearly done. 

The burning sun its strength doth lose; 

All cool and grand the evening seems; 
While nature, in her brightest hues 

And gayest tints, her blessings streams. 

The housewife gazing in the west, 
Admiring heaven's gorgeous 'ray. 

Thinks of the one whom she loves best. 
And blesses God for close of day. 

Her husband from his daily care 
Turns homeward to his evening meal; 

Refreshed, he returns, and there 

Completes his work with heightened zeal. 

O evening time! Blessed be the Lord! 

My soul breaks forth in pure delight, 
That God has spoken through his Word 

Of holy gospel evening light. 

The Christian on his journey bright. 

Rejoices in the God of love. 
That he is in the evening light. 

And earth and sin he reigns above. 

Just as the wife, the church of God, 
Arrayed in linen clean and white. 

Receives the glorious cleansing flood 
Of soul-refreshing evening light. 

The Bridegroom, Christ, just at the close 
Of God's great dispensation day. 

To gather his elect now goes. 
To spread his gospel every way. 



388 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



His saints, his burning trutlis to tell. 
Go over mount and ocean wave 

To rescue precious souls from hell 

And speak of light which Jesus gave. 

Behold the band so pure and free! 

One grand sweet song to God they raise, 
That through the light of heaven thes" see 

The world's Redeemer, whom they praise. 

Oh! who will go ere time shall cease. 
And freedom preach from sin and sect, 

That God's true light may still increase 
To gather in his blessed elect? 

C. H: Dbwev. 



YET WILL I REJOICE AND PRAISE 
HIM. 

Hab. 3: 17-19. 

Though the fig-tree shall not blossom and 
the earth refu.se to yield. 
Though the flocks have all been cut off 
from the fold. 
Though the labor of the olives fail and 
from the barren field 
Naught but waste our clouded vision can 
behold, 
Tet will I rejoice and praise him; though 
the flocks and herds be taken. 
Though the lowing of the oxen may no 
longer greet my ears. 
Though the warbling of the songster may 
no note of praise awaken, 
Tet with joy I'll bid my heart respond to 
him who speaks and hears. 

Though the fig-tree shall not blossom and 
the golden waving grain 
That is waiting in the harvest-field today 
On tomorrow may be turned to dust with 
no increase or gain 
And the scanty gleanings all be swept 
away, 
Yet will I rejoice and praise him; though 
no vintage may be gathered. 
Though the olives and the vineyards may 
no oil or wine afford, 
Though seed-time fail and latter frosts the 
tender buds have withered 
Yet my faith shall rest unshaken on the 
promise of the Lord. 

Though the fig-tree shall not blossom can 
we doubt his tender care? 
Has his gracious hand withheld for aught 
but love 
Of all the longing heart has craved or 
ever hoped to share 
Of the riches in his treasure-house 
above? 
Has he ever claimed a jewel for his heav- 
enly habitation, 
One we treasured as the fairest or the 
one we loved the best. 
And we wept and held the image, still re- 
fusing consolation. 
And forgot that they were waiting in the 
mansions of the blessed? 



Though the fig-tree snail not blossom, need 
the sun refuse to shine? 
Need the heart become a wilderness most 
bare? 
What! does grace afford no token for the 
bosom's waiting shrine? 
Is her song of joy and peace no longer 
there? 
Though the fig-tree shall not blossom, 
there's a valley in the desert 
"Wliere the heart renews its failing 
strength, is cheerful like the roe; 
Where the pilgrim drinks from cooling 
springs within his hidden covert. 
And eats the hidden manna; -where the 
milk and honey flow. 

Though the fig-tree shall not blossom, 
cease my heart from care, and rest'; 
Let love's guardian angel touch a golden 
key 
Till the chords of trust unbroken shall re- 
echo in the breast 
A lovely strain of perfect harmony; 
Until faith, whose strength is weakened, 
shall from slumbering depths awaken 
A precious anthem wafted from the 
heights of Paradise: 
Till again we sing t^e sacred notes with 
confidence unshaken 
And outride the threatening tempest that 
is gathering in the skies. 

Though the flg-tree shall not blossom and 
the vintage yield no wine 
Yet our Father's coffers still are filled 
with gold. 
All the flocks within the valleys and a 
thousand hills with kine 
Within a plenteous pasture have a fold. 
And will he forget to hearken when our 
joy is turned to mourning? 
One who spreads a table for the herds 
and notes the sparrows' fall 
Since faithful through the darkest night we 
watched until the dawning — 
Will he fail to heal our sorrow or to an- 
swer when we call? 

Though the fig-tree shall not blossom and 
the olives yield no oil 
Though no grain within the garner may 
be stored, 
Tliough an whole year's faithful labor in 
one day become a spoil, 
Tet will we rejoice and triumph in his 
word. 
Will not he who formed the mighty deep 
and portals in the heavens. 
Who at nightfall spreads a lovely span- 
gled banner over the sky. 
Wl^o remembered once his prophet by the 
sending of the ravens — 
Will he fail to feed his loved ones now or 
disappoint their cry? 

Though the fig-tree shall not blossom, shall 
we pledge with trusting heart 
Unreserved submission to his loving will 

■Wlien the fondest earth ties sever and with 
cherished ones we part, 



POEMS OF RELIGION'. 



389 



When the tempests beat or when the 
waves are still? 
If so, we shall iiear a whispered note of 
holy inspiration 
That will ring above a thousand tones 
that echo from the deep; 
And, beloved, it will quell the tempter's 
sorest accusation, 
Till with joy we clasp our pledge of trust 
and cease to sigh and weep. 

JsNNiB Mist. 



TRUTH. 

"And what is truth?" asked Pilate, sober, 

Immersed in deep perplexity. 
And trembled while in judgment over 

The One his final judge must be. 
He asked, but waited not the answer; 

For in his majesty there stood 
The Truth himself at his tribunal — 

Tea, the incarnate Truth of God. 

Shine on with all thy constellation, 

The precious attributes of God, 
Love, mercy, justice, and compassion; 

For second in thy magnitude 
Thou only art to love's effulgence- 

"I am the truth," and "God is love"; 
From both in one omnific fulness 

Proceed the streams of truth above. 

High honored and from everlasting 

Thou art, O truth, a pillar strong, 
Upholding justice, faith, and virtue. 

Before the stars together sang 
Our ill-doomed planet's new creation, 

Thy hand didst hold, on Heaven's throne, 
The balance, weighing every nation, 

Upon the worlds that round thee shone. 

Thou art the firm and deep foundation 

Of hope and universal good. 
And on thy broad eternal bosom 

Is based the awful throne of God. 
The myriad stars that gem the ocean 

Of boundless space, at thy command 
Pursue their even-tenored motion, 

And are supported by thy hand. 

The clod we feeble insects cover, 

Once deep submerged in angry flood, 
Now hangs in short disguised probation 

Upon the Truth, "the Word of God." 
The secret's locked in Heaven's bosom, 

And marked in Heaven's calendar, 
But present truth gives faithful larum 

That time has reached its evening star. 

When first this jot of God's dominion 

Was sadly plunged in hell's control, 
Truth dropped betime some gentle beaming 

Upon the ruin of "Mansoul." 
Beneath a dark prophetic mantle 

He painted hope to mortal eyes, 
And on his blood-besprinkled altars 

His coming glory symbolized. 



Wlien, long-expectant, earth had waited. 

And all the nations musing sat. 
In Heaven's secret council-chamber 

Truth, Love, and Pity fondly met. 
They kissed, as on her lonely orbit 

The earth moved heavy up the skies; 
And, groaning, 'neatli sin's dark oppres- 
sion, 

Held long their sympathetic eyes. 

Then Pity broke the silence, weeping; 

Love, deeply moved, to Justice spake; 
And Mercy joined her interceding 

That fallen man, for Pity's sake, 
Should now be ransomed back to heaven. 

Then Truth arose in majesty. 
Thus saying, "I for man will suffer; 

Here, Love and Mercy, offer me. 

"Great Spirit, give to me a body, 

A proper sacrifice for sin, 
And thou, O Justice, sum man's debit, 

And let me surety be for him." 
Then answered Pity, Love, and Mercy, 

"Oh, speed thee. Truth! but not alone. 
For we tliy sisters will go with tliee, 

And rear on earth thy peaceful throne." 

The angels sang the joyful tidings 

To shepherds in the lonely night. 
Sweet "peace" a boon to earth is given, 

And Wisdom came to see the sight. 
The Truth has made his lowly advent, 

■^'here falsehood, sin, and error held. 
For ages past, destructive regent. 

"Good will to men," the chorus swelled. 

So Truth went forth witli Love and Mercy 

And Freedom followed in their wake. 
The chains of death and hell were broken. 

And tyrant-thrones were made to shake. 
They built on earth a crystal palace, 

Adorned with precious gifts divine, 
The Truth himself its ground and pillar, 

Whence all his grace and glory shine. 

Upon the mountain of his temple 

Truth sits, the Judge of every creed. 
And prime instructor of all people 

^Tio wish to gain true wealtli indeed. 
Thence all the wise and prudent-hearted. 

From earth and sea's remotest bound, 
Go up to drink at Wisdom's fountain, 

Whose streams with life and peace 
abound. 

Here Grace reveals the happy secret 

Of living pure and free from sin, 
And gratitude to God unwelling. 

Her everlasting anthems sing. 
Here ransomed souls obtain the glory 

That Truth enjoyed in worlds of light. 
And that he bequeathed to all who love him. 

Ere back to heaven he took his flight. 

T^Tien once enshrined within the bosom 
And deeply rooted in the heart, 

All earth and hell can ne'er dethrone thee; 
For thou. O Truth! so precious art 

That millions for thy sake have suffered, 



390 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Yea, suffered to the martyr's cro^^■n. 

But thou art worthy. Prince of Heaven. 

That millions more thy scepter own. 

But Truth crushed down shall not forever 

Lie martyred, trampled on the ground; 
She bleeding falls, and seems exterminated. 

Yet years eternal are her round. 
From each reverse the must relumine; 

Wlien buried she "springs out the earth": 
For "Righteousness looks down from 
heaven," 

And Glory crowns her going forth. 



Then Truth put on his holy armor, 

Unsheatlied his mighty, flaming sword, 
In war on every creed of error. 

On full six hundred mixed and stored 
With falsehoods many, new inventions, 

And much of God's pure AVord. 
Each truth contains, reversing others; 

So all is owned and all denied. 

In some were taught that the Almighty 

Had fixed from all eternity 
Just who is lost and who elected, 

By his unchangeable decree: 
That some were born for dark perdition. 

And others born for heaven's plane. 
And, irrespective of volition, 

Each must that destination gain; 

That all the deeds of this probation, 

If black as hell or very good. 
Are no prelude to future station — 

Naught but the pre-decree of God; 
That he, likewise, had made selection 

'Mong them that die in infancy — 
A cherub this should be in glory, 

And that inhabit miserj'. 

'Twas deemed an orthodox confession 

That grace and sin go hand in hand 
Throughout the years of our probation. 

Until we reach the better land: 
That none may hope to gain a freedom 

Until our last expiring breath. 
But sin in thought and word and action 

Till saved the instant of our death. 

These old opinions, rags, and rubbish. 

All threadbare, filthy, false, and vain. 
Were but a refuse heap of fuel 

For the divine consuming flame; 
And so He burned them all to^jether. 

And left instead, as in her youth. 
The church that Jesus built, forever 

The pillar and the ground of Truth. 

Instead of party name and faction. 

And rival clamor "here" and "there," 
God's truth brought forth his great salva- 
tion, 

And all the ransomed, pure and fair, 
By love's celestial bond united, 

In sweet and pure harmonious praise. 
Truth reigning in each happy bosom. 

Behold, they're one in all their ways. 



He smote all sinnership religion, 

And blasted every groundless hope, 
Demanded present full salvation. 

Or else abandon every prop: 
He drew a line of demarkation 

'Twixt every soul of sinful spot 
And he accepting God's election — 

The righteous man that sinneth not. 

His hammer, smote the black partitions 

Until they crumbled into dust; 
His fire made a conflagration 

Of every idol made their trust. 
He then restored in all its beauty 

The palace he had reared before; 
All cleansed and garnished, pure and holy, 

And filled with glory evermore. 

All must receive who here would enter, 

A circumcision in their hearts: 
Repent, and leave all creeds of error, 

Have truth illume their inner parts; 
Lay down their lives on God's pure altar 

And make the perfect sacrifice 
Of earth and self and sin forever, 

And buy the trutli at martyr's price. 

Daniel S. Warner. 



IS THERE NAUGHT THAT SATIS- 
FIES? 

The little lass witli curling, golden hair. 
With cheeks sun-kissed and eyes of beauty 

rare. 
Has stores of playthings, dollies not a 

few- 
Is she content? Nay, cries for something 

new; 
And yet would this her longing satisfy? 
Oh, no! for yet another toy she'd cry. 

The little barefoot lad with cheeks of tan 
And hands so brown — this miniature man — 
Has games complete, and marbles by the 

score: 
Has balls and whips and tops and strings 

galore; 
A monarch he of all that he surveys — 
Is he content with all his games and plays? 
Not he! at times he's filled with vague un- 
rest. 
Nor with the boon contentment is he 
blessed. 

The .gentle maiden, pride of all the earth. 
So pure and fair, a gem of greatest worth, 
With daintiest robes and queenly crown of 

hair. 
Rare trinkets on her neck and arms so fair, 
Adoring lovers kneeling at her feet — 
Her conquests and her joys must be com- 
plete. 
"Nay, nay! 'Tis only vanity." she cries; 
"There's naught of these that fully satis- 
fies." 

The gallant youth in all his noble strength. 
With myriad honors to be gained at length, 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



391 



So fond of pastime and of manly sport — 
The hunt, the music of the gun's report, 
The prance of steed, the yelping of the 

hound. 
Such exultation when the game is downed — 
Do these to thee true joy of soul impart? 
They leave at best but emptiness of heart. 

The mother true, the queen of all the earth, 

Who reigns supreme in her own home and 
hearth, 

Whose household she commands with scep- 
ter true: 

All honor she receives which is her due; 

Then, is this queen content with all her 
realm? 

Nay; ofttimes care and sadness overwhelm. 

O man in prime of life with all thy power. 

With honors which the world doth on thee 
sliower. 

All things are in thy reach, at thy com- 
mand — - 

In aught of these does satisfaction stand? 

"Ah, nol" the answer comes, "long I for 
more, 

Although I search in vain from shore to 
shore." 

Old age, so like the ripened, golden sheaves, 
And like the garnered fruit mid autumn 

leaves. 
And as the closing day at setting sun, 
Thy battles all are fought, thy vict'ries 

won — 
Art thou content? Xay, look not for it 

here — 
Contentment near tlie cold and silent bier. 

In radiant youth, in prime of life, old age — 

Is there nowhere a satisfying stage? 

Is pleasure only folly evermore? 

Is there no peace in gaining earthly store? 

Is life from cradle to the silent tomb 

But discontent and sorrow, care and gloom? 

Nay! look beyond and list to that sweet 
voice; 

Its accents make the youth and sage re- 
joice: 

"Come unto me, all ye that labor here! 

Te sad and disappointed, draw ye near; 

Upon you take my yoke and learn of me; 

From care and discontentment be made 
free." 

Oh, hear the gentle voice, my lass and lad! 
"Let little children come to me," he said; 
"To you shall everlasting joys be given. 
For such as ye are of the realms of 
heaven." 

To maid and youth he says, "Remember now 
Thy great Creator: to him meekly bow. 
He'll give that which shall ever satisfy; j 
The day of evil then shall never draw nigh. 
Wherein no joy and pleasure ye shall find." 
Oh, this is satisfaction for mankind! 

Thou mother dear, in queenly realms of 
home. 



Wlien sad and care-worn, hear that voice 

say, "Come, 
All who are heavy-laden, come to me; 
True joy and rest of soul I'll give to thee." 

Tliou in thy prime with all thy honors 

vain, 
Tliey'll profit naught if heaven thou 

shouldst not gain. 
True honor cometh only from above; 
'Tis found in Jesus' great and wondrous 

love. 

Thou in ripe age, though at the eleventh 

hour, 
Tet in the all-atoning blood there's power 
To make thy few remaining days a joy 
And tilled with pleasures sweet with no 

alloy. 
Until thy gladdened haart and tongue shall 

sing, 
"O Grave, where is thy victory? Death, thy 

sting?" 

Tea, there's a satisfying portion free. 

For time and for a vast eternity. 

Then, come, sad-hea/ted, with your load 

of care; 
Both young and old may have a bounteous 

share. 
Though naught that sates within the world 

there lies. 
In Jesus there is all that satislies. 

Eva M. Wbay. 



GONE HOME. 

[In memory of a sister in Christ and coworlier in 
the gospel service, who died April 13, 1900.] 

■Wliile life's peaceful twilight was silentl> 
falling. 
And veiled as a mantle our sister's pale 
brow. 
We heard not the voice of the death-angel 
calling. 
Nor dreamed that so soon from our midst 
she would go. 

Not fallen, but beckoned from sowing and 
reaping. 
From sermons and prayers that were 
mingled with tears, 
To rest, while true comrades the vigils are 
keeping: 
We'll finish hf^r sheaf ere the Master ap- 
pears. 

The seed that .she cast — not one by-path 
omitting — 
We'll water and shield, that not one gem 
be lost, 
That from 'mong- the fairest not one may be 
missin.g 
WHien Jesus shall number his heavenly 
host. 

Methinks when we meet in the wonderful 
morning. 



392 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



-+- 



In mansions of light witii the loved ones 
at home, 
'Mong jewels awaiting- the bridal adorning, 
No gems will be fairer than those in her 
crown. 

We weep as we tenderly fold on her bosom 
The hands that have patiently toiled in 
his name; 
We'll clasp them no more till the amar- 
anths blossom 
And springtime is smiling forever the 
same. 

Rest on, precious sister; the hands you have 
strengthened 
Will faithfully garner the seed you have 
sown. 
And erelong, unless time's duration be 
lengthened. 
The loved ones you've left will be all 
gathered home. 

Jknnib .Mast. 



TO THE ALIEN. 

[This poem is addressed to tlie author's wife, 
who. in the year 1884, through the influence of a 
spiritual deceiver, left her husband.] 

Three years have fled since billows wild 

Wrecked our domestic bark 
And chilled your love for husband, child. 

Mid waters cold and dark. 

"How wonderful the mystery!" 

Astonished, men exclaim, 
"That hearts so knit in unity. 

Could ever part in twain." 

But 'some of them that understand,' 

In Daniel we are told,* 
Shall fall, alas! in time of end. 

Though white and trie- as gold. 

Thus Wisdom speaks in thunder tones: 

"O earth, behold His signs! 
The end is nigh, the Savior comes — 

How perilous the times!" 

Our precious boy, so sweet and pure, 

Has lost a mother's love: 
His little heart could well endure 

Were she but gone above. 

One mother only nature gives 

To every child of earth; 
But others now supply the place 

Of her that gave him birth. 

Oh, happy day if ever grace 
Shall melt that lieart of thine, 

That son may see within thy face 
A mother's love divine! 

We suffered some adversities — 
A portion all must find — 



• Dan. 11: 35. 



When compassed round by devotees 
WTiose creeds we'd left behind. 

^\Tien pressing to the harvest-field 

Of everlasting trutli. 
And just before the golden yield, 

Alas! you turned aloof. 

Oh, how I wish that you could share 

In these ecstatic days, 
Enjoy the light of God so pure. 

And help to sing his praise! 

My soul had longed for more of God, 

More glory in the cross; 
But never dreamed that it must come 

Through such a bitter loss. 

I can not chide his providence. 
But count it all the best; 

For in each storm of violence 
I sink to sweeter rest. 

'Tis good to learn in furnace flame 
What Christ the Lord can do. 

Oh, blessed be his holy name! 
He gently leads me through. 

'Twas not a rival filled thine eyes 

With colored fancies rare: 
But Satan came in deep disguise, 

And wrought the dread affair. 

Thus came the fiend in Eden fair. 

The woman's heart to win; 
With charming words of wisdom rare. 

He plunged the world in sin. 

And so betrayed Delilah, to 

The Philistines of old 
Her husband; when yet feigning true 

His secret did unfold. 

Again in hell the council sat. 

Renewed the cursed plan 
That Adam saw and Samson met. 

To overthrow the man. 

And Instrument adroitly used, 

A plot infernal, black. 
To quench the burning present truth, 

And turn deliverance back. 

Loud rang a shout of Babel joy. 

Supposing Truth had died: 
But forth .she came, without alloy, 

The better for being tried. 

We still are joined in Eden's bond 

Of matrimony true; 
While life endures, yet undissolved 

It binds my heart to you. 

No court of man nor Satan's power 

Can disannul the tie; 
Though spirits rent, in evil hour, 

"One fiesh" are you and I. 

No face so fair, no lieart so warm, 
Upon this verdant sod. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



393 



Shall alienate with rival charm 
The wife received of God. 

So I will walk with God alone 

And bless his holy name 
Till he shall bring- the alien home 

To dwell in love again. 

In vision of the night I saw — 

And woke to joyful praise — 
True nature reimprint her law, 

That ruled thy former days. 

From nature's pure affections then 

Grace led to love divine; 
Then heaven's bliss alone can bound 

Our mutual joy sublime. 

God grant that this may real prove 
Through coming years of time, 

And in his shining courts above 
An endless crown be thine. 

The hand of God alone can take 

The broken chords of love 
And knit them in a union, sweet 

As love's pure reign above. 

Here I will close my present rhyme, 

But ever pray for you, 
That God may give you back again 

The heart of woman true. 

Then touched by sweet seraphic strains. 
With all the heavenly throng. 

I'll shout aloud my Savior's praise. 
And sing another song. 

Daniel S. Warneb. 



THE SOULLESS PRAYER. 

I do not like to hear him pray 
On bended knee about an hour 

For grace to spend aright the day. 
Who knows his neighbor has no flour. 

I'd rather see him go to mill 

And buy tlie luckless brother bread. 

And see his children eat their fill 
And laugh beneath their humble shed. 

I do not like to hear him pray. 

"Let blessings on the widow be," 
Wlio never seeks her home, to say, 

"If want o'ertakes you, come to me." 

I hate the prayer, so loud and lon.g. 
That's offered for the orphan's weal, 

By him who sees him crushed with wrong. 
And only with the lips doth feel. 

I do not like to hear her pray. 

With jeweled ear and silken dress. 

Whose washerwoman toils all day. 
And then Is asked to work for less. 

Such pious falsehoods I despise! 
The folded hands, the face demure, 



Of those, with sanctimonious eyes. 
Who steal the earnings of the poor. 

I do not like such soulless prayers! 

If wrong, I hope to be forgiven. 
Such prayers no angel upward bears; 

They're lost a million miles from heaven! 



GOD S LOVE. 

Like a cradle, rocking, rocking. 

Silent, peaceful, to and fro; 
Like a mother's sweet looks dropping 

On the little face below. 
Hangs the green earth swinging, turning, 

Jarless, noiseless, safe and slow; 
Falls the light of God's face bending 

Down and watc'.iing us below 

And as feeble babes that suffer, 

Toss and cry and will not rest. 
Are the ones the tender mother 

Holds the closest, loves the best; 
So when we are weak and wretched, 

By our sins weighed down, distressed. 
Then it is that God's great patience, 

Holds us closest, loves us best. 

O great heart of God, whose loving 

Can not hindered be nor crossed. 
Will not weary, will not even 

In our death itself be lost — 
Love divine of such great loving 

Only mothers know the cost — 
Cost of love which, all love passing, 

Gave a Son to save the lost. 

Sasb Holm. 



THE FIRST SHALL BE LAST; THE 
LAST, FIRST. 

She was passing fair, with a charming ease, 

And a smile that was wondrous sweet; 
Possessed of honor and wealth and fame, 

That brought the world to her feet; 
Sheltered as one that must know not care 

Or feel the hardship of life. 
She boarded the bark of pleasure and pride. 

Thinking to steer from the strife. 
The Reaper entered her home one day, 

Entered without permit; 
He spake no word, and he made no sign 

But down at her side to sit. 
Her loved ones watched her whitening face; 

They followed her down to the bank. 
The waters looked rough and cold and dark, 

And when she saw she shrank. 
"Must I," she said, "must I go alone. 

Alone out into the night? 
I see no boatman to ferry me o'er." 

She plunged and was lost to sight. 
Tliose who are left with their grief-filled 
hearts. 

See but the place where she lies. 
They hear but tones most mournfully sad 

As the wind through the evergreen sighs. 



394 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Down in the city's wastes, where sin 

Makes havoc with human souls; 
Where the stream of vice unceasingly 

With its precious plunder rolls; 
In a den of filth and rags and rum, 

A gem was found one day; 
God's hunters and fishers were at their 
tasks. 

And they bore the trophy away. 
The Master polished it for his own, 

And set it to shine for him; 
And the glory and grace of that sparklinn 
gem 

No power of earth could dim. 
But a few short years, and her work was 
done, 

For the reaper called at her door. 
She gladly followed to the water's edge, 

■Rliere her Pilot had gone before; 
"I see no sign of his coming yet. 

But there's nothing I need to fear; 
For the Boatman's word is as good as 
gold. 

And he promised to meet me here." 
The loyal ones who came with her there. 

And watched as she launched away. 
Were braced by the cheering song she sang. 

And gained new strength for the fray. 
Though dead, she lives in the hearts of 
men; 

They see not the place where she lies. 
She sought to honor tne Lord while she 
lived, 

And died as the Christian dies. 

MATTia Gergen. 



TO MY DEAR SIDNEY. 

The heart that feels a father's love 
And swells with love's return. 

Will kindly bear this overflow 
Toward my only son. 

Tes, Sidney's love, so blent with mine, 

A poem shall employ — • 
A token left to coming time 

That Father loved his boy. 

One gentle vine — thy tendrils sweet 

Around my soul entwine; 
A comfort left in sorrows deep, 

One heart to beat with mine. 

Thy life has dawned in peril's day. 
Mid wars that heaven shake; 

Thy summers five, eventful, the.v 
Like surges o'er thee break. 

Thy little soul has felt the shock, 

Of burning Babel's fall. 
When hell recoiled in fur.v black 

And stood in dread appall. 

But wreaking out his vengeance now. 

Like ocean's terror dark. 
Hell's monster came athwart the bow 

Of our domestic bark. 



Thy guardian angel wept to se9 

This brunt of fur.\' sweep 
The girdings of maternity 

From underneath thy feet. 

But pity still her garlands weave 

Around thy gentle brow, 
And angels on thee softly breathe 

Their benedictions now. 

They soothe and bless thy manly heart. 

And wipe away thy tears; 
So tempered to thy bitter lot. 

The bitter sweet appears. 

An exile now is eacli to each, 

As banished far at sea. 
A martyr on his island beach, 

I daily think of thee. 

And stronger love has seldom spanned 

The mocking billows wild 
Than are the chords that ever bind 

To my beloved child. 

Though sundered not by angry main. 
Compelled from thine embrace; 

We flee abroad in Jesus' name 
To publish Heaven's grace. 

Thy little heart can not divine 

Why Papa stays away, 
But coming years wih tell — if thine — 

The great necessity. 

When sickness crushed thy little form, 

I knew my boy was ill; 
I heard thee in my visions call. 

But duty kept me still. 

A trial deep, to feel thy pain. 
And yet debarred from tliee 

To show that sinners lost were in 
A greater misery. 

Oh, may this lesson speak to thee 
When Father's work is done! 

And highest maj' thy glorj' b© 
A soul for God is won. 

And now, my son, attentive hear. 

My benediction-prayer. 
And ever tune thy heart and ear. 

To heaven's music rare: 

For ere the light of day had shone 

In thy unfolding eyes. 
We gave thee up to God alone. 

A living sacrifice; 

And oft repeated when a babe. 
To God our child was given; 

And Jesus heard the vow we made, 
And wrote it down in heaven. 

So, like a little Samuel, you 
Must answer. "Here am I"; 

Give all your heart to Jesus, too. 
For him to live and die. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



395 



Like Samuel, serve the living God. 

His temple be thy home. 
In love obey his holy Word, 

Thy gentle heart His throne. 

The Lord is good, my darling boy; 

He made tny body well. 
And he will bless thee evermore. 

If in his love you dwell- 

A new edition may you be 
Of Father's love and zeal. 

But yet enlarged so wondrously 
That earth thy tread may feel. 

DaMZL S. WiBNBB. 



FAITH AND REASON. 

Two travelers started on a tour. 

With trust and knowledge laden; 
One was a man with mighty brain. 

And one a gentle maiden. 
They joined their hands and vowed to bo 

Companions for a season. 
The gentle maiden's name was Faith, 

The mighty man's was Reason. 

He sought all knowledge from the world 

And every world anear it; 
All matter and all mind were his. 

But hers was only spirit. 
If any stars were missed from heaven. 

His telescope could find them; 
But while he only found the stars. 

She found the God behind them. 

He sought for truth above, below. 

All hidden things revealing; 
She only sought it woman-wise, 

And found it in her feeling. 
He said, "This earth's a rolling ball, 

And so doth science prove it"; 
He but discovered that it moves; 

She found the springs that move it. 

He reads with geologic eye 

The record of the ages; 
Unfolding strata, he translates 

Earth's wonder-written pages. 
He digs around a mountain base, 

And measures it with plummet; 
She leaps it with a single bound, 

And stands upon the summit. 

He brings to light the hidden force 

In nature's labyrinths lurking. 
And binds it to his onward car 

To do his mighty working. 
He sends his message 'cross the earth. 

And down where sea gems glisten; 
She sendeth hers to God himself. 

Who bends his ear to listen. 

He tries, from earth, to forge a key 
To ope the gate of heaven; 

That key is in the maiden's heart. 
And back its bolts are driven. 



They part. Without her all is dark. 
His knowledge vain and hollow; 

For Faith has entered in with God, 
Where Reason may not follow. 

l.izziH York Cass, 



WHO SHALL BE ABLE TO STAND? 

The Spirit expressly is heard; 
Lo, he speaketh again and again 

Of the perils that come in the time of 
the end. 

When wicked professors will seek to de- 
fend 
The creeds and commandments of men. 

Beware, precious soul! stand alone on his 
Word ; 

Beware, lest you fail of the promised re- 
ward. 

Oh! who shall be able to stand 

'Gainst the tempest tliat threatens to- 
day? 

For the false and deceptive are waxing 
more strong. 

And only a few of the numberless throng 
Are willing his word to obey — 

Are willing to honor each precious com- 
mand. 

To sit at his feet or be led by his hand. 

Oh! who shall be able to stand? 

False spirits are seeking their prey; 
Oh! how many poor victims, now halting 

in fear. 
Will make their escape when the trumpet 

they hear. 
And come liome to Zion to stay? 
Oh! then, let his judgments go forth in 

the land, 
Else none of the weak will be able to 

stand. 

Refusing his Wtord to uphold. 

Although heralds once valiant in war. 
On the carcass of those who refused to 

obey. 
Behold, the foul vultures are feasting to- 
day; 
Their hapless estate we deplore. 
Then, guard well the truth by his watch- 
men foretold; 
i Take heed that you enter no false shep- 
herd's fold. 

Oh! who shall be able to stand 

If his judgments we cease to proclaim? 
If the precious are left with the filthy 

and vile, 
The Master, methinks, will be weeping the 

while. 
For his bride will be bearing the shame. 
Oh! purge out the dross at the Spirit's 

command; 
Then all of the pure win be able to 

stand. 

JEKNIB Ml9T. 



396 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

Brightest and best of the sons of the 
morning! 
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine 
aid; 
Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. 

Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shin- 
ing; 
Low lies his head with the beasts of the 
stall; 
Angels adore him, in slumber reclining. 
Maker, and Monarch, and Savior of all! 

Say, sliall we yield him, in costly devotion, 

Odors of Bdom, and offerings divine. 
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the 
ocean. 
Myrrh from the forest or gold from the 
mine? 

Vainly we offer each ample oblation; 

Vainly the gifts would his favor secure; 
Richer, by far, is the heart's adoration; 

Dearer to God are the prayers of the 
poor. 

Brightest and best of the sons of the morn- 
ing! 
Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine 
aid; 
Star of the East, the horizon adorning. 
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. 
Rbuinald Heber. 



WEVE BEEN PRAYING FOR YOU. 

The hour for the service was passing away; 
The leader was pleading that, ere he should 

pray. 
Each would seek for a friend and invite him 

to come 
To the altar of mercy while yet there was 

room. 

A father sat waiting, he could not tell why, 

WTien his child came to seek him with love 
in his eye. 

"Won't you come, Papa, please!" he whis- 
pered. "Oh, do! 

All day while at work, we've been praying 
for you." 

The father felt deeply how great was liis 

need; 
The Spirit, resisted, continued to plead. 
Forty years he had walked in the pathway 

of sin; 
It was time with his child a new life to 

begin. 

He came to the altar and made the glad 

choice. 
And others soon followed while Christians 

rejoiced. 
We shall find by and by when the books 

shall be read. 



Many souls into heaven the children have 
led. 

Oh! gather them early; call into the fold 

The dear lambs of the flock for the Shep- 
herd to hold. 

The parents will follow — what else can 
they do 

When the little ones whisper, "We're pray- 
ing for you"? 

MAKT B. WiNGATK. 



SELECTIONS FROM PSALM XXXVII. 

Fret not thyself because of evil-doers, 

Neither be thou envious against the work- 
ers of iniquity; 

For they shall be cut down like the grass. 

And wither as the green herb. 

Trust in the Lord, and do good; 

So Shalt thou dwell in tlie land, and verily 
thou Shalt be fed. 

Delight thyself also in the Lord, 

And he shall give thee the desires of thy 
heart. 

Commit thy way unto the Lord; 

Trust also in him; and he shall bring it to 
pass; 

And he shall bring forth thy righteousness 
as the light. 

And thy judgment as the noonday. 

Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for 
him: 
Fret not thyself because of him who 
prospereth in liis way. 

Because of the man who bringeth wicked 
devices to pass. 

cease from anger, and forsake wrath: 

Fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. 

For evil-doers shall be cut off; 

But those that wait upon the Lord, they 
shall inherit the earth; 

For yet a little wliile. and the wicked shall 
not be 

Yea, thou Shalt diligently consider his 
place, and it shall not be. 

But the meek shall inherit the earth, 

And shall delight themselves in tlie abun- 
dance of peace. 



A little that a righteous man hath 

Is better than the riches of many wicked; 

For the arms of the wicked shall be 
broken; 

But the Lord uplioldeth the righteous. 

The Lord knoweth the days of the up- 
right, 

And their inheritance shall be forever. 

They shall not be ashamed in the evil 
time; 

And in the days of famine they shall be 
satisfied. 
Tlie steps of a good man are ordered by 
the Lord, 

And he delighteth in his way. 

Though he fall, he shall not be utterly 
cast down; 

For the Lord upholdeth him with his hand. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



397 



I have been young, and now am old; 

Yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken. 

Nor his seed begging- bread. 

He is ever merciful, and lendeth; 

And his seed is blessed. 

Depart from evil, and do good, 

And dwell forevermore; 

For the Lord loveth Judgment, 

And forsaketh not his saints; 

They are preserved forever: 

But the seed of tlie wicked shall be cut off. 

The riKhteoiis shall inherit the land, 

And dwell therein forever. 

The mouth of the righteous speaketh wis- 
dom. 

And his tongue talketh of judgment; 

The law of his God is in his heart; 

None of his steps shall slide. 

The wicked watcheth the righteous. 

And seeketh to slay him. 

The Lord will not leave him in his liand. 

Nor condemn him when he is judged. 
Wait on the Lord and keep his way. 

And he shall exalt thee to inherit the 
land: 

When the wicked are cut off, thou shall see 
it. 

I have seen the wicked in great power. 

And spreading himself like a green bay- 
tree; 

Yet he passed away, and lo, he was not; 

Yea, I sought him, but he could not be 
found. 



THE BAPTISM. 

*Twas on a quiet Sunday morn; 

The sky hung low, but the storm had 
gone. 
And many rivulets, newly born. 

Toward larger streams were hastening 
on. 
Down to the river swollen wide 

There came a happy little band. 
And there beside the flowing tide 

In prayer they knelt upon the sand. 

For they had found the peace of God, 

And now they came to do his will. 
And these the words of lovely song 

Arose upon the air so still: 
"Down into the flowing river, 

Lo, the Lamb of God we see; 
There he speaks in clear example, 

'Take the cross and follow me.' " 

Did those young hearts fear to follow 

The example Jesus gave? 
Did they shudder at the thought of 

Sinking 'neath the rolling wave? 
No; to them 'twas blessed and sacred 

To obey his holy call; 
For since finding full salvation 

Their Redeemer was their all. 

Gladly, without shrink or falter, 
They received immersion there; 



And they felt that they could follow 

With their Savior anywhere. 
And, returning from the river, 

Echoes through the forest rang 
While their voices rose together 

As sweet sacred songs they sang: 
"Oh, happy day that fixed my choice 

On thee, my Savior and my God! 
Well may this glowing heart rejoice, 

And tell its raptures all abroad." 



Do not think that time and changes 
Ever, while reason reigns serene, 

Will erase from memory's pages 
That baptismal, solemn scene. 

A.NNiH M, Abet. 



NATURE S DEVOTION. 

■We rose this quiet Lord's Day morn 

And bowed the knee to Heaven's throne 
And worshiped him whose love had won 

And changed the heart that once was 
stone. 
His goodness passed before our eyes. 

And moved a flood of gratitude; 
We wept, o'ercome by great surprise 

That human hearts irreverence God. 

Then we arose, drew up the blind. 

And welcomed in the morning rays. 
And, looking forth far o'er the land, 

Love beamed in all that met our gaz& 
Lo, God beneath his feet had spread 

A carpet new and soft and white. 
.So pure! O God! can men here tread 

And yet be filthy in thy sight? 

Ye earthly forms! can j-e deserve 

Or claim your awful Maker's care 
If o'er this snowy fleece ye drivo 

Or tread upon its bosom fair 
And catch no sermon from its flakes. 

Reproving all thy sins below 
The clouds, where God thy Maker makes 

And scatters down the lovely snow? 

Each flake in sparkling purity 

Descending from above. 
As God's adoring messenger. 

Brings silent whispers of his love. 
All wove together, sweetly form 

A glittering robe of crystal bright. 
To show how grace our souls adorn 

In Heaven's garb of spotless white. 

Thus Nature hath a heart to praise 

The one that gave her voice; 
The moon by night, the orient blaze, 

And all the stars rejoice. 
They seem to glow in ecstasy. 

As if their myriad twinkling eyes 
The glorious throne of Heaven see 

High up beyond their vaulted skies. 

The ocean sends to heaven her spray. 
Heaves her majestic bosom high. 



398 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And sinss lier swelling awful lay. 

Or softens to a vesper sigh; 
Mirrors the host of heaven deep 

In her Creator's loving hand; 
Her rushing billows ever keep 

The boundary fixed by God's command. 

The rivers and the little rills 

Sing sweet their praises all along, 
Wliile forests and the lofty hills 

In echo join the happy song; 
The restless winds chant through the tree.s; 

The birds are full of fervent praise; 
With finer tones tlie humming bees 

Chime in the universal lays. 

The clouds arise like wings of prayer, 

In grateful worship drop tlieir tears; 
The fields their varied fruitage bear 

To God, whose goodness crowns the 
years; 
The dew-drops sparkle in the smile 

Of morn; and flowers freely pour 
Their fragrant incense from each cell 

To him all nature doth adore. 

Tes, Nature seems to be attuned 

To celebrate her Maker's praise, 
Man, one exception, hath presumed 

Irreverently to spend his days. 
While Nature sings in harmony 

And blesses Heaven's sacred plan, 
All things in heaven and earth and sea 

Must shame the prayerless heart of man. 
Daniel .S. Wakneb. 



He lifts us from the depth of sin, 
And makes our hearts as white as snow; 

We're drinking at that crystal stream 
Where life and peace and glory flow. 
Jennie Mast. 



THE GOODNESS OF GOD. 

We sometimes look with grateful heart 

Over widening fields and leafy wood; 
The babbling brooks kind thoughts impart 

And seem to tell us "God is good." 
Upon the righteous and unjust 

He sendeth oft refreshing rain; 
The pure in heart, the sin-accursed. 

All gather in the ripened grain. 

The heart of man by sin accursed 

Sees naught but gall and bitterness. 
The cooling brooks oft quench their thirst; 

Their lips no grateful words confess. 
While bound in heart by sinful chains, 

They can not sound one note of praise; 
Their lieart a desert waste remains, 

■Wliile care and trouble crown their days. 

The secrets of a Father's love 

He gives to those who fear his name- 
In trials sore we look above 

And prove his grace in furnace flame. 
'Tis safe to trust in his strong arm. 

And hymn his grace that can not fall; 
The trusting heart feels no alarm. 

But sings his grace when storms prevail. 

The glorious sun sheds forth his rays 
And gladdens every child of earth. 

The while our hearts are filled with praise 
For him who gave us heavenly birth. 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

Through the solemn midnight ringing. 
Falls the sweet, triumphant singing 

Of the choir of God. 
Hear the message they are bringing; 
Hear the answering song upspringing 

From the echoing sod. 

Blessed voice of God's own angels. 
Echoing word of his evangels. 

Hark! They fall again. 
Balm for wounds and peace for anguish, 
Rest for souls that toil and languish, 

Peace, good will to men. 

From the sad earth's stricken places 
Lift the tear-worn, furrowed faces; 

Christ, the Lord, is oorn — 
Born to bear our cross and sadness; 
Born to change our gloom to gladness. 

Bring our night to morn. 

His the giving and forgiving, 
Bitter dying, anguished living, 

Cross and pain and smart; 
His the bearing and forbearing; 
Ours the blessing and the sharing 

Of his gracious heart. 

Soft the music grows, and tender. 
Loving hearts, what can ye render 

To the Christ, your king? 
Praise in voices fail and falter. 
What that's worthy of his altar 

Can his children bring? 



HOLINESS. 

There is a faith unmixed with doubt, 

A love all free from fear, 
A walk with Jesus where is felt 

His presence always near. 
There is a rest that God bestows. 

Transcending pardon's peace; 
A lowly, sweet simplicity, 

Wliere inward conflicts cease. 

There is a service God-inspired, 

A zeal that tireless grows, 
Where self is crucified with Christ 

And joy unceasing flows. 
There is a being "right with God," 

A yielding to his commands 
Unswerving true fidelity; 

A loyalty that stands. 

There is a meekness free from pride. 

That feels no anger rise 
At slights or hate or ridicule. 

But crosses count a prize. 



POEMS OF RELIGION. 



.■390 



There is a patience that endures 

Without a fret or care, 
And joyful sings, "His will be done," 
My Lord's sweet grace I share." 

There is a purity of heart, 

A cleanness of desire, 
Wrought by the Holy Comforter 

With sanctifying Are. 
There is a glory that awaits 

Each blood-washed soul on high, 
^Tien Christ returns to take his bride 

With him beyond the sky. 



LINES REPROVING SOME SECTARIAN 
IDOLATRY. 

Tour craft best thrives 
Where virtue dies, 
By festives nude 
And frolics lewd. 
By games of chance 
And pious (?) dance, 
Obtaining pelf. 
By lies and stealth. 
By jockey joles 
And sale of souls. 
By taking in 
The secret sin 
Tour sect may swell 
And prosper well. 
And keep apace 
In Babel's race 
Of rivalry 
And jealousy. 
Til. lightnings flash 
The coming crash, 
Of Heaven's ire 
"In flaming fire," 
And ruin smite 
The worlds of night. 
And hell possess 
Tour "churchliness." 

Danisl S. Wabnxb. 



THE RISEN LORD. 



Lo, 



» risen Lord we sing, 

Alleluia! 
Once he died, love's offering, 

Alleluia! 
See him deaths dark terrors brave. 
Dying, dying souls to save. 
Us to rescue from the grave. 

Alleluia! 

Short within the tomb his stay, 

Alleluia! 
Death no more can hold its prey. 

Alleluia! 
Lo, he bled to meet our need, 
Rose his precious blood to plead, 
Still for us doth intercede. 

Alleluia! 



His the death, but ours the life. 

Alleluia! 
Ours the victory, his the strife. 

Alleluia! 
Now by all the griefs he bore 
Now by all the shame he wore, 
We are !iis forevermore. 

Alleluia! 

Lo, a risen life we bring, 

Alleluia! 
This our loves glad offering, 

Alleluia! 
Souls redeemed and hearts renewed 
Wills to his sweet will subdued; 
These shall speak our gratitude, 

Alleluia! 



I GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE. 

I gave my life for thee. Gal. 2:20. 

My precious blood I shed, 1 Pet. 1:19. 

That thou mightest ransomed be, Eph. 1:7. 

And quickened from the dead. Eph. 2:1. 
I gave my fe for thee; Tit. 2:14. 

^\^lat hast thou given for me? 

John 21:15-17. 

I spent long years for thee 1 Tim. 1 :15. 

In weariness and woe, Isa. 53:3. 

That an eternity John 17:24. 

Of joy thou mightest know. John 16:22. 
I spent long years for thee John 1:10, 11. 
Hast thou spent one for me? 1 Pet. 4:2. 

My Father's home of light John 17:5. 

My rainbow-circled throne Rev. 4:3. 

I left for earthly night Phil. 2:7. 

For wanderings sad and lone. Matt. 8:20. 
I left it all for thee: 2 Cor. 8:9. 

Hast thou left aught for me? Mark 10:29. 

I suffered much for thee — Isa. 53:5. 

More than thy tongue may tell — 

Matt. 26:39. 

Of bitterest agony, Luke 22:44. 

To rescue tliee from hell. Rom. 5:9. 

I suffered much for thee; 1 Pet. 2:21-24. 

What canst thou bear for me? 

Rom. 8:17, 18. 

And I have brought to thee John 4:10, 14. 

Down from my home above, John 3:13. 
Salvation full and free. Rev. 21:6. 

My pardon and my love. Acts 5:31. 

Great gifts I brought to thee; Psa. 68:18. 
What hast thou brought to me? Kom. 12:1. 



Oil, let thy life be given. 
Thy years for him be spent 

World-fetters all be riven. 
And joy with suffering 

I gave myself for thee; 
Give tliou thyself to me! 



Rom. 6:13. 
2 Cor. 5:15. 
Phil. 3:8. 
blent! 

1 Pet. 4:13-16 

Eph. 5:2. 

Prov. 23:26. 



Fbances Ridlet Batbboal. 



400 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GOD, ADORATION 



GOD. 

[The following ode is from tbe Russian Anthology, 
and was composert by Derzbaven. who had never 
Heen our Scriptures. It has been translated into 
Japanese, by order of the emperor, and is hung up. 
embroidered with gold, in the temple of Jeddo. It 
has also been translated into the Chinese and Tar- 
tar languages, written on a piece of rich silk, and 
suspended in the imperial palace at Pekin. ] 

O thou eternal One! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide; 
Unchanged through time's all-devastating 
flight: 
Thou only God! There is no God beside! 
Being above all beings! Three in one! 
Whom none can comprehend, and none 
explore; 
■RTio fillest existence with thyself alone; 
Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er! — 
Beine whom we call God — and know no 
more! 

In Its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the ocean deep, may 
count 
The sands or the sun's rays; but God! 
for thee 
There is no weight nor measure; none 
can mount 
Up to thy mysteries. Reason's brightest 
spark. 
Though kindled by thy light, in vain 
would try 
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark; 
And thought is lost ere thought can soar 

so high, 
B'en like past moments in eternity. 

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call. 

First chaos, then existence; Lord, on thee 
Eternity had its foundation; all 

Sprung forth from thee, of light, joy, 
harmony. 
Sole origin; all life, all beauty, thine. 

Thy word created all, and doth create; 
Thy splendor fills all space with rays di- 
vine: 

Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious. 

Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe sur- 
round; 
Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with 
breath. 
Thou the beginning with the end hast 
bound, 
And beautifully mingled life and death. 
As sparks mount upward from the fiery 
blaze. 
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth 
from thee; 
And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
Shine round the silver snow, the pagean- 
try 
Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy 
praise. 



A million torches, lighted by thy hand. 
Wander unwearied through the bluo 
abyss: 
They own thy power, accomplish thy com- 
mand. 
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
What shall we call them? Pyres of crystal 
light? 
A glorious company of golden streams? 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright? 
Suns lighting systems their joyful beams? 
But thou to tliese art as the moon to night. 

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, 

AH tliis magnificence in thee is lost. 
Wliat are ten thousand worlds compared to 
thee? 
And what am I, then? Heaven's unnum- 
bered host. 
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 

In all the glory of sublimest thought. 
Is but an atom in tlie balance weighed 
Against thy greatness — is a cipher 

brought 
Against infinity! What am I, then? 
Naught! 

Naught! But the eflluence of thy light di- 
vine, 
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom 
too: 
Yes, in my spirit doth thy spirit shine. 

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. 
Naught! but I live, and on hope's pinions 

fiy. 

Eager, toward thy presence; for in thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring 
high, 
Even to the throne of thy divinity. 
I am, O God! and surely thou must be! 

Thou art! directing, guiding all, thou art! 
Direct my understanding, then, to thee; 
Control my spirit; guide my wandering 
heart. 
Though but an atom midst immensity. 
Still I am something, fashioned by thy 
hand; 
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and 
earth. 
On the last verge of mortal being stand. 
Close to the realm where angels have 
their birth. 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land. 

The chain of being is complete in me; 

In me is matter's last gradation lost. 
And the next step is spirit — Deity! 

I can command the lightning, and am 
dust! 
A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god! 
Whence came I here, and how, so mar- 
velously 
Constructed and conceived? unknown! this 
clod 



^^.si^mi^ 




POEMS OF RELIGION— God, Adoration. 



401 



Lives surely througli some higher en- 
ergy ; 
For, from itself alone, it could not be. 

Creator! yes, thy wisdom and thy word 
Created me! Thou source of life and 
good! 
Tliou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord! 
Thy light, thy love, in the bright pleni- 
tude. 
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over tlie abyss of death, and bade it wear 
The garments of eternal day, and wing 
Its heavenly flight beyond this little 

sphere, 
Even to its source — to thee, its author 
there. 

O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest! 
Though worthless our conceptions all of 
thee. 
Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our 
breast. 
And waft its homage to thy Deity. 
God! thus alone my lonely thoughts can 
soar: 
Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and 
good; 
Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore: 
And, when the tongue is eloquent no 

more. 
The soul shall speak in tears of grati- 
tude. 

Translated by Dn. BowniNG. 



O THOU IN WHOSE PRESENCE. 

O Thou in whose presence my soul takes 
delight. 
Cm whom in aflliction I call: 
My comfort by day, and my song in the 
night. 
My liope. my salvation, my all. 

M'liere dost thou at noontide resort witli 
thy sheep 
To feed on the pastures of love? 
Say. why in the valley of death should I 
weep. 
Or alone in the wilderness rove? 

Oh! why should I wander an alien from 
thee. 
And cry in the desert for bread? 
Thy foes will rejoice when my sorrows 
they see. 
And smile at the tear.^; I have shed. 

Ye daughters of Zion, declare Iiave yon 
seen 

The star that on Israel shone? 
Say, if in your tents my beloved has been. 

And where with his flock he is gone? 

This is my Beloved: his form is divine: 
His vestments shed odors around: 

The locks on his head are as grapes on the 
vine 
When autumn with plenty is crowned. 



His lips as a fountain of rigliteousness How, 
That waters the garden of grace. 

From which their salvation the Gentiles 
shall know, 
jVnd bask in the smiles of liis face. 

Such is my Beloved, in excellence bright, 

When pleased he looks down from above. 
Like the morn, when he breathes from the 
cliambers of liglit. 
And comforts his people with love. 

Joseph Swain. 



THE WONDROUS CROSS. 

When I survey the wondrous cross 
On wliich the Prince of glory died. 

My richest gain I count but loss, 
And pour contempt on all my pride 

Forbid it. Lord, that I should boast. 
Save in the death of Christ, my God: 

All the vain things that charm me most- 
I sacrifice them to his blood. 

See, from his head, his hands, his feet. 
Sorrow and love flow mingled down! 

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet. 
Or thorns compose so rich a crown? 

Were the whole realm of nature mine. 
That were an offering far too small; 

Love so amazing, so divine, 

Demands my soul, my life, my all! 

ISAAO Watts. 



god's WORKS DECLARE HIS GREAT- 
NESS. 

Tlie spacious firmament on high, 

Witli all the blue ethereal sky 

And spangled lieavens, a shining frame. 

Their great Original proclaim. 

The unwearied sun, from day to day. 

Does his Creator's power display. 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an Almighty hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail. 

The moon takes up the wondrous tale. 

And, nightly, to the listening eartli 

Keneats the story of her birth: 

Wliilst all the stars that round her burn. 

And all the planets in their turn. 

Confirm the tidings as they roll. 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though in solemn silence all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball? 
What though no real voice nor sound 
.\mid their radiant orbs be found? 
In Reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorious voice. 
Forever singing, as they shine, 
"The hand that made us is divine." 

Joseph AddisoX, 



403 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE MOURNER S TEAR. 

O Thou who driest the mourner's tear, 
How dark this world would be, 

If, when by sorrows wounded here, 
We could not fly to Thee! 

The friends who in our sunshine live. 
When winter comes are flown; 

And he wlio has but tears to give 
Must weep those tears alone. 

But Christ can heal that broken heart. 
Which, like the plants that throw 

Their fragrance from tlie wounded part, 
Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom. 

Did not his wing of love 
Come brightly wafting through the gloom, 

Our peace-branch from above? 

Then sorrow, touched by him, grows bright 
With more than rapture's ray; 

As darkness shows us worlds of light, 
'We never saw by day. 

Thomas Moorb. 



WORSHIP. 

I sing the praises of tlie Lord, 

Who shelters and protects me; 
I magnify the mighty Word, 
Wherein his mind directs me: 

Though ills endure, 

I walk secure 
Mid ramparts that surroundeth, 

For I do know, 

Where'er I go 
His perfect care aboundeth. 

To praise him were a little thing 

If words were all we brought him; 
A vagrant lisp might lightly sing 
As if a soul had sought him; 

But when the heart. 

From speecli apart. 
Thanksgivings fain would pour him. 

Ah! then the tongue 

Hath quickly sung 
The measures that adore him. 

We should not rush unheeding in. 

Forgetting our unmeetness: 
For lips like ours if soiled by sin, 
Need sanctifying sweetness: 

The precious blood 

By Jesus shed, 
■Which doth our altar sprinkle — 

This blood, I ween. 

Doth wash us clean, 
■Without a spot or wrinkle. 

We worship him, the Lord of all. 
Who reigns in light above us; 
Low at his feet before him fall, 
He doth so truly love us; 
For all the days 
And all the ways. 



Whose mercy faileth never; 

For ev'ry grace 

And hope and peace, — 
We laud his name forever. 

Llewellyn A. Moeeibon. 



CHRIST S HUMANITY. 

O Babe upon tliy mother's breast. 

In our weak garb of suffering drest. 

So lowly yet so wondrous nigh 

That angels might not pass thee by. 

And wise men came from distant lands, 

With kingly offerings in tlieir hands, — 

What dreams prophetic, strange and old 

Tliy heritage and work foretold! 

U Child within the Temple's court. 

Where priest and prophet wisdom sought. 

And thy young lips first oped to tell, 

Tlie message that tliey knew so well! 

O Man upon the upward way 

Beneath the lieat and toil of day. 

With weary feet and tender frame. 

Yet ever, always, just tlie same; 

Mighty to heal, lowly and mild, 

■yet grand in justice, undefiled, 

And blending with a godlike love 

Thy life-work with thy place above! 

O Savior at the awful close, 

Forsook by friends, beset by foes, 

Before the vengeful bar arraigned. 

With brow and garments crimson-stained, 

Amidst the mob, whose only cry, 

In thirsty voice was, "Crucify!" 

>IARU B. LlNDESAT. 



THE INFINITY OF GOD. 

Holy and Infinite! Viewless, Eternal! 

■Veiled in the glory that none can sustain. 
None comprehendeth thy being supernal, 

Nor can the heaven of heavens contain. 

Holy and Infinite! limitless, boundless. 
All thy perfections and power and praise! 

Ocean of mystery! awful and soundless, 
All thine unsearcliable judgments and 
ways! 

King of Eternity! what revelation 
Could the created and finite sustain. 

But for thy marvelous manifestation, 
Godhead incarnate in weakness and pain? 

Therefore archangels and angels adore thee. 
Cherubim wonder, and seraphs admire; 

Therefore we praise thee, rejoicing before 
thee. 
Joining in rapture the heavenly choir. 

Glorious in holiness, fearful in praises. 
Who shall not fear thee, and who shall 
not laud? 
Anthems of glory thy universe raises, 
Holy and Infinite! Father and God! 

Frances Ridles Havbrgai*. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— God, Adoration. 



403 



MY BELOVED. 

Caul, o ; i). 

Oh, what is thy BelOved? 

They oft inquire of me; 
And wliat in my Beloved 

So passing fair I see. 
Is it the heavenly splendor 

In which he shines above, 
His riches and dominions, 

That won my heart's best love? 

Oh no! 'tis not his glories — 

He's worthy of tliem all — 
'Tis not the throne and scepter. 

Before wliich angels tall. 
I view with heart exulting 

Each crown his head adorns; 
But, oh I he looks most lovely, 

Wearing- his crown of thorns. 

I'm glad to see his raiment. 

Than snow more spotless white. 
Refulgent with its brightness. 

More dazzling than the light; 
But more surpassing lovely 

His form appears to me, 
W]ien, stripped and scourged and bleeding 

He hung upon the tree. 

With warmest adoration 

I see him on the throne, 
And join the loud hosannas 

That his high virtues own; 
But, O most blessed Jesus. 

I must confess to thee. 
More than the throne of glory 

I love that sacred tree. 

I joy to see the diadems 

Upon thy royal brow. 
The state and power and majesty 

In which thou sittest now; 
But 'tis thyself, Lord Jesus, 

Makes heaven seem heaven to me — 
Thyself, as first I knew thee. 

Uplifted on the tree. 

Though higher than the highest. 

Most mighty King thou art. 
Thy grace, and not thy greatness. 

First touched my rebel heart. 
Thy sword, it might have slain me. 

Thine arrows drunk my blood; 
But 'twas thy cross subdued me. 

And won my heart to God. 

Thy scepter rules creation; 

Thy wounded hand rules me: 
All bow before thy footstool; 

I but the nail-prints see. 
Aloud they sound thy titles. 

Thou Lord of lords most high; 
One thrilling thought absorbs me — 

This Lord for me did die! 

Oh, this is my Beloved! 

There's none so fair as he: 
The chief among ten thousand, 

He's all in all to me. 



Jly heart, it breaks with longing 

To dwell with him above, 
Wlio wooed me first, and won me 

By his sweet dying love. 

J. G. Dick. 



PRAYER. 

More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wlierefore let 

thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day; 
For what are men better tlian sheep or 

goats. 
That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of 

prayer, 
Botli for themselves and those who call 

them friends? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of 

God. Alfbed Tenntson. 



THANKSGIVING. 

We thank thee. Lord, for morning light 
And for each day so clear and bright; 
We thank thee for the noonday sun 
And for the night when day is done. 
Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

We thank thee for tlie sky so blue. 
And for the moon and stars too; 
We thank thee much that while we sleep 
The guardian angels vigil keep. 

Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

■We thank thee for the flowers sweet 
And for the grass about our feet; 
We thank thee for all kinds of trees. 
With buds and bloom and fruit and leaves. 
Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

We thank thee for the bees and birds 
And for the useful flocks and herds. 
That for mankind thou mad'st to live. 
And that to him dost all things give. 
Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

We thank thee for the Bible dear, 
With messages of love and cheer. 
And that it to the people still 
Reveals thy precious, holy will. 

F'ather in heaven, we thank thee. 

We thank tliee for the Savior kind 
To heal the sick, the lame, the blind. 
And that he shed his precious blood. 
Redeeming our lost souls to God. 

Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

We thank thee for a home of love, 
^liere we shall dwell with thee above. 
And for a bright and starry crown 
When we shall lay our armor down. 
Father in heaven, we thank thee. 

Emma J.n-bs. 



40 i 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. 

Almighty King! wliose wondrous hand 
Supports tlie weight of sea and land; 
Whose grace is such a boundless store, 
Kg heart shall breaK that sighs for more. 

Thy providence supplies my food, 
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good: 
My soul is nourished by thy word: 
Let soul and body praise the Lord. 

My streams of outward comfort came 
From him who built this earthly frame; 
Whate'er I want his bounty gives, 
By whom my soul forever lives. 

Either his hand preserves from pain. 
Or, if I feel it, heals again; 
From Satan's malice shields my breast, 
Or overrules it for the best. 

Forgive the song that falls so low 
Beneath the gratitude I owe; 
It means thy praise, however poor; 
An angel's song can do no more. 

William Cowpeb. 



THIS SAME JESUS. 

Acts 1 ; 11. 

"This same Jesus!" Oh, how sweetly 
Fall those words upon the ear, 

Like a swell of far-off music 

In a night-watch still and drear! 

He who healed the hopeless leper; 

He who dried the widow's tear; 
He who changed to health and gladness 

Helpless suffering, trembling fear; 

He who wandered, poor and homeless. 

By the stormy Galilee: 
He who on the night-robed mountain 

Bent in prayer the wearied knee: 

He who spake as none had spoken. 

Angel-wisdom far above. 
All-forgiving, ne'er upbraiding. 

Full of tenderness and love; 

He who gently called the weary. 

"Come, and I will give you rest"; 
He who loved the little children. 

Took them in his arms and blest; 

He, the lonely Man of Sorrows, 

'Neath our sin-curse bending low. 

By his faithless friends forsaken 
In the darkest hours of woe, — 

••This same Jesus!" WTien the vision 

Of that last and awful day 
Bursts upon the prostrate spirit. 

Like a midnight lightning ray; 

WHien, else dimly apprehended. 
All its terrors seem revealed. 



Trumpet-knell and fiery heavens, 
And the books of doom unsealed, — 

Then, we lift our hearts adoring — 

"This same Jesus," loved and known; 

Him, our own most gracious Savior, 
Seated on the great white throne; 

He himself, and "not another"; 

He for whom our heart-love yearned 
Through long years of twilight waiting. 

To his ransomed ones returned! 

For this word, O Lord, we bless thee. 
Bless our Master's changeless name; 

Yesterday, today, forever, 

Jesus Christ is still the same. 

Frances Ridlev Havergal. 



GOD IS EVERYWHERE. 

Oh! show me where is he. 
The high and holy One, 
To wliom thou bendest the knee. 

And prayest, "Thy will be done." 
I hear thy song of praise. 

And lo! no form is near; 
Thine eyes I see thee raise. 
But where doth God appear? 
Oh! teach me who is God, and where his 

glories shine. 
That I may kneel and pray, and call thy 
Father mine. 

Gaze on tliat arch above; 

Tlie glittering vault admire. 
Who taught those orbs to move? 

Wlio lit their ceaseless fire? 
■Wlio guides the moon to run 

In silence through the skies? 
Who bids that dawning sun 
In strength and beauty rise? 
There view immensity! Behold! my God is 

there: 
The sun, the moon, the stars, his majesty 
declare. 

See where the mountains rise: 

Where thundering torrents foam; 
Where, veiled in towering skies. 

The eagle makes his home: 
Where savage nature dwells. 

My God is present too; 
Through all her wildest dells 
His footsteps I pursue: 
He reared those giant cliffs, supplies that 

dashing stream. 
Provides the daily food which stills the 
wild bird's scream. 

Look on that world of waves, 

Wliere finny nations glide; 
Within whose deep, dark caves 

The ocean monsters hide: 
His power is sovereign there. 

To raise, to quell the storm: 
The depths his bounty share. 

WHiere sport the scaly swarm: 



POEMS OF RELIGION— God, Adoration. 



405 



Tempests and calms obey the same al- 
mighty voice, 

Which rules the earth and skies, and bids 
far worlds rejoice. 

No human thoughts can soar 

Beyond his boundless might; 
He swells the thunder's roar. 

He spreads the wings of night. 
Oh, praise his works divine! 

Bow down thy soul in prayer; 
Nor ask for other sign, 
Tliat God is everywhere: 
The viewless spirit he — immortal, holy, 

blest; 
Oh, worship him in faith, and find eternal 
rest! 



GOD IS LOVE. 

God is love: his mercy brightens 
All the path in which we rove: 

Bliss he wakes, and woe he lightens: 
God is wisdom, God is love. 

Chance and change are busy ever; 

Man decays, and ages move; 
But his mercy waneth never: 

God is wisdom, God is love. 

Even the hour that darkest seemeth 
Will his changeless goodness prove: 

From the gloom his brightness streameth; 
God is wisdom, God is love. 

He with earthly cares entwineth 
Hope and comfort from above; 

Everywhere his glory shineth: 
God is wisdom, God is love. 

.John E<jwring. 



ASHAMED OF JESUS ! 

Jesus, and shall it ever be, 
A mortal man ashamed of thee — 
Ashamed of thee, whom angels praise, 
Whose glory shines through endless days? 

Ashamed of Jesus! Sooner far 
Let ev'ning blush to own a star! 
He sheds the beams of light divine 
O'er this benighted soul of mine. 

Ashamed of Jesus! Just as soon 
I.et morning be ashamed of noon: 
'Twas midnight with my soul, till he. 
Bright Morning Star, bid darkness flee. 

Ashamed of Jesus — that dear friend. 
On whom my hopes of heaven depend! 
No! when I blush, be this my shame, 
That I no more revere his name. 

Ashamed of Jesus! Tes, I may. 
When I've no tears to wipe away, 
No foe to face, no good to crave. 
No fears to quell, no soul to save. 



Till then — nor is my boasting vain — 
Till then I'll boast a Savior slain! 
And, oh, may this my glory be. 
That Christ is not ashamed of me. 

His institutions would I prize; 
Take up my cross, the .shame despise; 
Dare to defend his noble cause. 
And yield obedience to his laws. 

Joseph Grigg. 



THE SOURCE OF ALL. 

God of the fair and open sky! 

How gloriously above us springs 
The tented dome of heavenly blue. 

Suspended on the rainbow's rings! 
Each brilliant star that sparkles through. 

Each gilded cloud that wanders free 
In evening's purple radiance, gives 

The beauty of its praise to thee. 

God of the rolling orbs above! 

Thy name is written clearly bright. 
In the warm day's unvarying blaze 

Or evening's golden shower of light 
For every fire that fronts the sun. 

And every spark that walks alone 
Around the utmost verge of heaven, 

■Were kindled at thy burning throne. 



AN EASTER ODE. 

CRUCIFIXION. 
'Twas night; the earth was wrapped in 
gloom. 

With grief convulsed, sad nature wept 
O'er the sacred Form which in the tomb 

Of her cold, icy bosom slept. 
Drear night! dark tomb, not victors these; 

Though cruel, bold, relentless, strong, 
Nor death nor hell could fetters weave 

To hold their princely Captive long. 

RESURRECTION. 
Fair Easter morn, we hail thy light! 

For thou didst bring again to earth 
Her royal Guest, his smile so bright 

(Would all might know its matchless 
worth). 
Dear risen Lord, we praise thy name; 

For thou hast vanquished all our foe.s. 
Hast rescued man from death's domain. 

And robbed the grave of all its woes. 

ADORATION. 
Xo more dominion hath death's lord 

O'er souls set free by Jesus' blood; 
For true and faithful is the word. 

He'll lead the ransomed home to God. 
O Lamb once slain! Thy own pure love 

Flows freely through our hearts today; 
With holy zeal our spirits move 

As thou dost guide us in the thy way. 



406 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



An humble off'ring now we bring, 

With glad hosannas speak thy fame; 
Our souls witli halleluiahs ring, 

Ascribing glory to thy name. 
To thee, eternal God and King, 

Our inmost lives with love unfold, 
To catch the peaceful joys that spring 

From sparkling streams of bliss untold. 
Anna IC. Thomas. 



I 



DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY. 

[The author of this poem lived Id the time of 
Chnrles I., whose cause he espoused. The opposite 
part.v so Imrrassed him, injuring his property, plun- 
dering him of his books, and destroying his rare 
manuscripts, that it broke down his health and 
spirits, and is said to have occasioned his death.] 

I love (and have some cause to love) the 
earth : 
She is my Maker's creature, therefore 
good; 
She is my mother, for she gave me birth; 
She is my tender nurse — she gives me 
food: 
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with 

thee? 
Or what's my motlier, or my nurse to me? 

I love the air: her dainty sweets refresh 
IVIy drooping soul, and to new sweets in- 
vite me: 

Her slirill-mouthed choir sustains me with 
their flesh. 
And with their many-toned notes delight 
me: 

But what's the air or all the sweets that she 

Can bless my soul withal, compared to 
thee? 

I love the sea: she is my fellow-creature, 
My careful purveyor; she provides me 

store: 
She walls me round; she makes my diet 

greater; 
She wafts my treasure from a foreign 

shore: 
But, Lord of ocean.s, when compared with 

thee, 
\Miat is the ocean or lier wealth to me? 

To lieaven's high city I direct my journey. 
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine 
eye; 

Mine eye, by contemplation's great attor- 
ney. 
Transcends the crystal pavement of the 
sky: 

But what is heaven, great God, compared 
to thee? 

Without thy presence heaven's no heaven to 
me. 

Without thy presence earth sives no re- 
flection; 
Without thy presence sea affords no treas- 
ure; 
Without thy presence air's a rank infection; 
Without thy presence lieaven itself no 
pleasure: 



If not possessed, if not en-oyed in thee. 
What's eartli or sea or air or heaven to me? 

The highest honors that the world can boast 
Are subjects far too low for my desire; 

The brightest beams of glory are at most 
But dying sparkles of thy living fire: 

The loudest flames tliat earth ca kindle be 

But nightly glow-worms, if compared to 
thee. 

Without thy presence wealtli is bags of 
cares ; 
Wisdom but folly; joy disquiet, sadness; 

Friendship is treason, and delights are 
snares; 
Pleasures but pains, and mirth but pleas- 
ing madness; 

Without thee. Lord, things be not wliat they 
be. 

Nor have they being, when compared with 
thee. 

In liaving all things, and not tliee, what 
have I? 
Not having thee, what have my labors 
got? 
Let me enjoy but thee, what further 
crave I V 
And having tliee alone, wliat have I not? 
I wish nor sea nor land, nor would I be 
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of 
thee. 

I'SANCIS QCABLS3. 



THE BENEDICTION. 

The prayer of the Master is over and ended; 

The passion is quelled, and the bondage 
is done: 
My soul in tlie mood of Jehovah is blended; 

My Father and I, by the Son, are at one. 

I worship before him! 

I praise and adore him! 
All blessing and fulness unto him belong; 

"For thine is tlie kingdom. 

The power, and the glory": 
I sing the glad story in rapturous song. 

The peace and the freedom for all men 
abiding. 
The presence, divine, in tlie human is 
found : 
Our hearts in the holy of holies still liiding. 
The strength and the patience for all 
things abound 

We worship before liim! 

We praise and adore liim! 
All prudence and wisdom unto him belong; 

"For thine is the kingdom. 

The power, and the glory": 
We sing it forever in triumphant song. 

The prayer of the Leader is ever ascending; 
The lips of the frailest but lisp its re- 
frain; 



POEMS OF RELIGION^God, Adoration. 



407 



The calm and the quiet come earthward un- 
ending; 
The help and the healing for mortals re- 
main. 

We worship before thee! 

We praise and adore tliee! 
All honor and greatness unto thee belong; 

"For thine is the kingdom. 

The power, and tlie glory"; 
The love is the story, salvation the song. 
Llbh-ellv.v a. Mobeison. 



A THANKSGIVING. 

For the wealth of pathless forests, 

Whereon no axe may fall: 
For the winds that haunt the branches. 

The young bird's timid call; 
For the red leaves dropped like rubies 

t'pon the dark green sod: 
For the waving of the forests, — 

I thank thee, O my God! 

For the sound of water gushing 

In bubbling beads of light; 
For the fleets of snow-white lilies 

Firm anchored out of sight: 
For the reeds among the eddies. 

The crystal on the clod; 
For the flowing of the rivers, — 

I thank thee, O ray God! 

For the rosebud's break of beauty 

Along the toiler's way; 
For the violet's eye that opens 

To bless the new-born day; 
For the bare twigs that in summer 

Bloom like the prophet's rod: 
For the blossoming of flowers, — 

I thank thee, O my God! 

For the lifting up of mountains, 

In brightness and in dread; 
For the peaks where snow and sunshine 

Alone have dared to tread; 
For the dark and silent forests, 

'^'lience mighty cedars nod; 
For the majesty of mountains, — 

I thank thee. O my God! 

For the splendor of the sunsets. 

Vast mirrored on the sea: 
For the gold-fringed clouds that curtain 

Heaven's inner mystery: 
For the molten bars of twilight, 

Where thought leans glad yet awed; 
For the glon.- of the sunsets, — 

I thank thee, O my God! 

For the earth and all its beauty. 

The sky and all its light: 
For the dim and soothing shadows, 

That rest the dazzled sight: 
For unfading fields and prairies. 

Where sense In vain has trod: 
For the world's exhaustless beauty, — 

I thank thee, O my God! 



For an eye of inward seeing, 

A soul to know and love; 
For these common aspirations. 

That our high heirship prove; 
For the hearts that bless each other 

Beneath thy smile, thy rod; 
For the amaranth saved from Eden, — 

L thank thee, O my God! 

For the hidden scroll, o'erwritten. 

With one dear name adored: 
For the heavenly in the human — 

The spirit in the Word: 
For the tokens of thy presence 

Within, above, abroad: 
For thine own great gift of being, — 

I thank thee, O my God! 

Lcct Laroom. 



SWEET STORY OF THE ANGELS. 

Listen, my soul, to the anthems of glory: 

Hark! there are strains from the angels 
above, — 
Filling the earth with the sweetness of 
heaven; 

Joyously telling the story I love: 
Telling of Jesus, my blessed Redeemer: 

Sounding his praises above and below. 
Oh, let me join in the wonderful chorus! 

Sing, for my heart is with praises aglow. 

Hear the sweet story the angels are chant- 
ing. 
Telling the shepherds asleep on the 
plain — 
Jesus, the Christ, in the city of David, 

Jesus is born, as a Savior, to reign. 
Oh, how my heart, in its gladness, is join- 
ing. 
Helping to tell what the angels have told! 
Oh, how I love it — the dear precious story — 
Love it because it can never grow old! 

Glory to God! Let us sing with the angels. 
E'en let us join in the shepherd's sweet 
lays. 
Till we behold the dear Christ as our Savior, 
Bringing him gifts in the likeness of 
praise. 
Oh, what a Savior! so great, yet so hum- 
ble! 
Leaving a mansion so grand and so fair. 
Bidding his Father adieu for a season, 
Our sins to atone and our sorrows to 
share. 

Glory to God! Oh, yes, glory forever! 

Peace upon earth and good will unto men! 
Never, oh, never let anthems cease ringing 
Forth from the pulpit, the tongue, and 
the pen! 
Angels are list'ning with joy to the music, 
Holding each strain and resounding the 
same; 
Hark! heaven rings with the beautiful 
chorus. 
Anthems of glorj- to Jesus' dear name. 
Isabel C. Btkdu. 



408 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE SIGNS OF GOD. 

I marked the Spring as she passed along, 
With her eye of light and her lip of song; 
While she stole in peace o'er the green 

earth's breast, 
While the streams sprang- out from their 

icy rest. 
The buds bent low in the breeze's sigh. 
And their breath went forth in the soented 

sky; 
When the fields looked fresh in their sweet 

repose, 
And the young dews slept on the new-born 

rose. 

The scene was changed. It was Autumn's 

hour: 
A frost had discolored the summer bower: 
The blast wailed sad mid the withered 

leaves: 
The reaper stood musing by the gathered 

sheaves: 
The mellow pomp of the rainbow woods 
Was stirred by the sound of the rising 

floods; 
And I knew, by the cloud, by the wild 

wind's strain. 
That Winter drew near with liis storms 

again. 

I stood by the ocean: its waters rolled 

In their changeful beauty of sapphire and 
gold; 

And day looked down with its radiant 
smiles, 

Where the blue wave danced round a thou- 
sand isles. 

The ships went forth on the trackless seas; 

Their white wings played in the joyous 
breeze; 

Their prows rushed on mid the parted 
foam. 

While the wanderer was wrapped in a 
dream of home. 

The mountain arose with its lofty brow, 
\\niile its .shadow was sleeping in vales 

below; 
The mist, like a garland of glory, lay 
Mliere its proud heights soared in the air 

away. 
The eagle was there on his tireless wing, 
And his shriek went up like an offering; 
And he seemed, in his sunward flight, to 

raise 
A chant of thanksgiving — a hymn of praise. 

I looked on the arch of midnight skies. 

With its deep and unsearchable mysteries: 

The moon, mid an eloquent multitude 

Of unnumbered stars, her career pursued; 

A charm of sleep on the city fell; 

All sounds lay hushed in that brooding 

spell: 
By babbling brooks were the buds at rest. 
And the wild bird dreamed on his downy 

nest. 



I stood where the deepening tempest passed: 

The strong trees groaned in the .sounding 
blast; 

The murmuring deep with its wrecks rolled 
on; 

The clouds o'ershadowed the mighty sun; 

The low reeds bent by tlie streamlet's side. 

And hills to tlie thunder-peal replied; 

The lightning burst forth on its fearful 
way. 

While the heavens were lit in its red ar- 
ray. 

And hath man the power, with his pride 

and his skill. 
To arouse all nature witli storms at will? 
Hath he power to color the summer cloud? 
To allay the tempest when the hills were 

bowed ? 
Can he waken the Spring, with her festal 

wreath? 
Can the sun grow dim by his lightest 

breatli? 
Will he come again when death's vale is 

trod? 
Who then shall dare murmur, "There is no 

God"? 

Willis G. Clark. 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

All things that are on earth shall wholly 

pass away. 
Except the love of God, which shall live 

and last for aye. 
The forms of men shall be as they had 

never been; 
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh 

and tender green; 
The birds of the thicket shall end their 

pleasant song. 
And the nightingale shall cease to chant 

the evening long; 
The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart 

that kills. 
And all the fair white flocks shall perish 

from the hills; 
The goat and antlered stag, tlie wolf and 

the fox. 
The wild boar of the wood and the chamois 

of the rocks 
And tlie stron.g and fearless bear, in the 

trodden dust shall lie. 
And the dolphin of the sea and the mighty 

whale shall die; 
And realms shall be dissolved, and empires 

be no more. 
And they shall bow to death, who ruled 

from shore to shore: 
And the great globe itself, so the holy 

writings tell. 
With the rolling firmament, where the 

starry armies dwell. 
Shall melt with fervent heat: they shall 

pass away. 
Except the love of God, which shall live 

and last for aye. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— God, Adoration. 



409 



THE HUMAN CRY. 

Hallowed be thy Xame — Halleluiah! — 

Infinita Ideality! 

Immeasurable Reality! 

Infinite Personality! 

Hallowed by Thy name — HaUehnah! 

We feel we are nothing — for all is Thou 

and in Thee; 
We feel we are something — that also has 

come from Thee: 
We are nothing, O Tliou — but Thou wilt 

help us to be 
Hallowed by Thy name — Halleluiah! 

Alfked Tenntsox. 



THANKSGIVING. 

Thanks be to God! to whom earth owes 

Sunshine and breeze. 
The heath-clad hill, the vale's repose, 

Streamlet and seas. 
The snowdrop and the summer rose, 

The many-voiced trees. 

Thanks for the darkness that reveals 

Night's starry dower. 
And for the sable cloud that heals 

Each fevered flower. 
And for the rushing storm that peals 

Our weakness and thy power. 

Thanks for the sweetly-lingering might 

In music's tone; 
For paths of knowledge, whose calm light 

Is all thine own; 
For thoughts that at the Infinite 

Fold their briglit wings alone. 

Yet thanks that silence oft may flow 

In dew-like store; 
Thanks for the mysteries that show 

How small our lore; 
Thanks that we here so little know. 

And trust thee all the more! 

Thanks for the gladness that entwines 

Our path below. 
Each sunrise that incarnadines 

The cold, still snow; 
Thanks for the light of love which shines 

With brightest earthly glow. 

Thanks for the sickness and the grief 

Which none may flee. 
For loved ones standing now around 

The crystal sea. 
And for the weariness of heart 

Wliich only rests in thee. 

Thanks for thine own thrice-blessed Word, 

And Sabbath rest: 
Thanks for the hope of glory stored 

In mansions blest; 
Thanks for the Spirit's comfort poured 

Into the trembling breast. 



Thanks, more than thanks, to him ascend, 

\\lio died to win 
Our life, and every tropliy rend 

From death and sin; 
Till, when the thanks of earth shall end, 

The thanks of heaven begin. 

Frances Ridley IIavcroal. 



HARK ! THOSE HOLY VOICES. 

Hark! what mean tliosa holy voices 
Sweetly sounding through tlie skies? 

Lol tlie angelic host rejoices; 
Heavenly lialleluiahs rise. 

Hear tliem tell the wondrous story. 
Hear them chant in hymns of joy: 

"Glory in the highest, glory! 
Glory be to God most high! 

"Peace on earth, good will from heaven, 
Reaching far as man is found! 

Souls redeemed, and sins forgiven! 
Loud our golden harps shall sound. 

"Christ is born, the great Anointed; 

Heaven and earth his praises sing! 
Oh, receive whom God appointed 

For your Prophet, Priest, and King! 

"Haste, ye mortals, to adore liim: 
Learn his name, and taste his joy; 

Till in heaven ye sing before him, 
'Glory be to God most high!'" 

John Cawood. 



GOD IS EVER GOOD. 

Whene'er I tread the highway 
Or pass through leafy wood, 

Methlnks I hear a murmur, 
"God is ever good." 

He careth for the songsters 
And daily gives them food; 

I think I hear tliem singing, 
"God is ever good." 

To earth he sent the Savior 
(We wonder how he could) 

To bear our sins and sorrows; 
God is ever good. 

Whene'er I count my blessings. 
And thank him as I should. 

My soul cries out in rapture, 
"God is ever good." 

■^liene'er I pass through trials. 
And trust him as I should. 

My heart is filled with glory; 
God is ever good. 

■^Hien I have crossed the river 
And on the shore have stood, 

I still shall sing his praises — 
"God is ever good." 



410 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THERE IS A GOD. 

Is there no God? Who, then, unrolled the 

blue. 
And placed upon its frontispiece the clouds 

of golden hue? 
Who made the sun a dazzling orb and 

marked its changeless way? 
Who brings it from its gilded gates at the 

da\Aning of each day? 

Who fashioned this green earth of ours 
and made its rippling rills? 

Who laid the strong foundation of the ever- 
lasting hills? 

Who paved the heavens with clouds of 
storm and made the thunder boom? 

Unchained the lightning in the sky an.l 
fashed it in the gloom? 

Who made the days and weeks and months, 

the seasons of the year? 
Who caused the tiny seed to sprout? Who 

formed the growing ear? 
Who sends the cool refreshing rain and 

decks the earth with flowers? 
Who paints the lovely autumn tints within 

the leafy bowers? 

Who made tlie eagles everywhere, the tem- 
pests swell and beat? 

Who chose the dove a calm repose and 
guarded her retreat? 

Who taught the birds to nest in spring 
and soar on tireless wing? 

^A^10 dressed them in their downy coats 
and taught them how to sing? 

Who made the range of planets, suns, and 

adamantine spheres. 
Which wheel unshaken in tlieir course 

through all succeeding years? 
Who keeps the water in its bounds? who 

made the deep blue sea? 
"Thou fool" who says there is no God, 

let nature answer thee. 

Who made the lofty rocky spires and cov- 
ered them with snow? 

Who made the mighty ocean's tide, each 
day to ebb and flow? 

Who made Niagara's torrent thunder o'er 
its chasm deep? 

Who made the downy meads and Klens 
where rippling rivulets creep? 

Tliere is a God! He sits above the water- 
floods of eartli; 

'Twas he who gave the tiny blade and 
lofty fir-tree birth; 

His voice is heard in whispering breeze 
and in the howling gale; 

The fountains of the deep are his, whose 
waters never fail. 

There is a God, O faithless man! He made 

thee as thou art; 
He formed thee in thy shapeliness and 

fashioned every part; 



He made the blood course through thy 
veins and gave thy breath to thee; 

He made each tendon, socket, joint, work 
in its symmetry. 

There is a God! Within thy heart he 

seeks a royal throne; 
He longs to fill it with his love, though 

now 'tis liard as stone: 
Thougli lost and far from God and hope in 

saddest exile driven, 
His power can cleanse thy deepest stains 

and fit thy soul for heaven. 

There is a God! And he whose tongue 
would dare blaspheme his power, 

Casts off his hope and blindly meets the 
coming judgment-hour: 

Tlie stars that shine above his head re- 
proach his darkened brain; 

The wind bewails his hopelessness and 
echoes his di.sdain. 

R. L. AtJSTlN. 



NO GOD. 

Is there no God? The white rose made re- 
ply, 
"My ermine robe was woven in the sky." 
The bluebird warbled from his shady bower, 
"My plumage fell from hands that made 
the flower." 

Is there no God? The silvery ocean-spray 
At the vile question startles in dismay, 
And, tossing mad against earth's impious 

clod. 
Impatient thunders, "Tes, thers is a God!" 



Is there no God? The dying Christian's 

hand. 
Pale with disease, points to a better land; 
And ere his body mingles with the sod, 
He, sweetly smiling, faintly murmurs, 

"God." 

No God! Who broke the shackles from the 

slave? 
Who gave tliis bleeding nation power to 

save 
Its flag and union in the hour of gloom, 
And lay rebellion's spirit in the tomb? 

"We publish God!" the towering mountains 

cry; 
Jehovah's name is blazoned on the sky, 
Tlie dancing streamlet, and the golden 

grain, 
Tlie lightning gleam, the thunder, and the 

rain; 

The dewdrop diamond on the lily's breast; 
The tender leaf by every breeze caressed: 
The shell, whose pearly bosom ocean laves. 
And seaweed bowing to a troop of waves; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— <God, Adoration. 



411 



The glow of Venus and the glare of Mars, 
The tranquil beauty of the lesser stars; 
The eagle, soaring in majestic flight: 
The morning bursting from the clouds of 
night; 

The child's fond prattle and the mother's 

prayer, 
Angelic voices floating on the air; 
Mind, heart, and soul; the ever-restless 

breath, 
And all the myriad-mysteries of death. 

Beware, ye doubting, disbelieving throng. 
Whose sole ambition is to favor wrong; 
There is a God; remember while ye can, 
"His Spirit will not always strive with 
man." 

N. K. RlCHABDSON. 



GOD S MAJESTY. 

Thou high and lofty One! 

We crown thee Lord of all, 
For that which thou hast done, 

For answering- when we call. 
For favors small and great, 

For hope of heaven here. 
For saving, ere too late. 

Our souls from sin's career. 

Thy majesty we own. 

Thy royal name adore; 
Reign thou upon my throne 

As King forevermore- 
Great God, fill all my heart 

With thy stupendous grace, 
And never from me part; 

Give me in heav'n a place. 

The elements I see 

Composing earth and sky 
Bespeak thy majesty, 

Thy royal reign on high. 
Thy Word shall never fail. 

Thy throne shall never fall; 
With Christ we shall prevail. 

Thou art monarch over all. 

B. E. Warren. 



OH, FOR A THOUSAND TONGUES. 

Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing 

My dear Redeemer's praise, 
The glories of my God and King, 

The triumphs of his grace! 

My gracious Master and my God, 

Assist me to proclaim. 
To spread through all the earth abroad. 

The honors of thy name. 

Jesus! the name that calms our fears, 
That bids our sorrow cease — 

'Tis music to my ravished ears, 
'Tis life and health and peace. 



He breaks the power of reigning sin; 

He sets the prisoner tree: 
His blood can make the foulest clean; 

His blood availed for me! 

Had I ten thousand thousand tongues. 

Not one should silent be; 
Had I ten thousand thousand hearts, 

I'd give them all to thee. 

Charles We^i.et. 



HYMN OF NATURE. 

God of the earth's extended plains! 

The dark-green fields contented lie; 
The mountains rise like holy towers, 

^VHiere man might commune with the sky; 
The tall cliff challenges the storm 

That lowers upon the vale below, 
Wliere shaded fountains send their streams, 

Witli joyous music in their flow. 

God of the dark and heavy deep! 

The waves lie sleeping on the sands, 
Till the fierce trumpet of the storm 

Have summoned up their thundering 
bands; 
Then the white sails are dashed like foam, 

Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas. 
Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale 

Serenely breathes, "Depart in peace." 

God of the forest's solemn shade! 

The grandeur of the lonely tree. 
That wrestles singly with the gale. 

Lifts up admiring eyes to thee: 
But more majestic far they stand. 

When, side by side, their ranks they form. 
To wave on high their plumes of green. 

And fight their battles with the storm. 

God of the light and viewless air! 

Where summer breezes sweetly flow. 
Or, gathering in their angry might. 

The fierce and wintry tempests blow; 
All — from the evening's plaintive sigh. 

That hardly lifts the drooping flower. 
To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry — 

Breathe forth the language of thy power 

God of the fair and open sky! 

How gloriously above us springs 
The tented dome of heavenly blue, 

Suspended on the rainbow's rings! 
Each brilliant star that sparkles through. 

Each gilded cloud that wanders free 
In evening's purple radiance, gives 

The beauty of its praise to thee. 

God of the rolling orbs above! 

Thy name is written clearly bright 
In the warm day's unvarying blaze. 

Or evening's golden shower of light: 
For every fire that fronts the sun, 

And every spark that walks alone 
Around the utmost verge of heaven, 

Were kindled at thy burning throne. 



41-^ 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



God of the world! tiie hour must come, 

And nature's self to dust return; 
Her crumbling' altars must decaj": 

Her incense fires shall cease to burn; 
But still her grand and lovely scenes 

Have made man's warmest praises flow; 
For hearts grow holier as they trace 

The beauty of the world below. 

W. O. B. Peabody. 



ADAM S MORNING HYMN IN PARA- 
DISE. 

These are thy glorious works, Parent of 
good, 
Almighty, thine this universal frame. 
Thus wondrous fair; tliyself how wondrous 

then 
Unspeakable, who sittest above these heav- 
ens 
To us invisible, or dimly seen 
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power 

divine. 
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light. 
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs 
And choral symphonies, day without night, 
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven, 
On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol 
Him first, him last, him midst, and with- 
out end. 
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night. 
If better thou belong not to the dawn, 
Sure pled.ge of day, that crownest the smil- 
ing morn 
WUh thy bright circlet, praise him in thy 

sphere. 
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
Thou sun, of this great world both eye anJ 

soul, 
Acknowled.ge him thy greater; sound his 

praise 
In thy eternal course, both when thou 

elimbest. 
And when high noon hast gained, and 

when thou fallest. 
Moon, that now meets the orient sun, nor 

fliest, 
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that 

flies. 
And ye five other wandering fires that move 
In mystic dance not without son.g, resound 
His praise, who out of darkness called up 

light. 
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless 

change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise 
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, 
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with 

gold. 
In honor to the world's .great Author rise. 
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored 
sky. 



i>r wet the thirsty earth with falling show- 
ers. 
Rising or falling, still advance his praise. 
His praise, .ve winds, that from four 

quarters blow. 
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, 

.ve pines, 
WUh every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow. 
Melodious murmurs, \varbling tune his 

praise. 
Join voices, all ye living souls; ye birds. 
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend. 
Bear on your wings and in your notes his 

praise. 
Ye tliat in waters glide, and ye that walk 
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 
Witness if I be silent, morn or even. 
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade. 
Made vocal by my song, and taught his 

praise. 
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still 
To give us only good; and if the night 
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed; 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. 

JoHX Milton. 



LET CREATION PRAISE THE 
CREATOR. 

The works of creation, the earth and the 
sky. 

Bespeak the Creator who ruleth on high. 

The might of whose wonderful acts are now 
seen 

In those vaulted heavens and meadows so 
green. 

The fields and the forests encircling the 
globe 

With verdure and beauty he wisel.y doth 
robe. 

The stars of the skies and tlie planets we 
view. 

Betoken God's wonders so boundless and 
true. 

The worlds in rotation move on at his will; 

His law in creation they daily fulfil; 

They faithfully honor our Father's com- 
mand. 

Who operates all with his masterful hand. 

The high -curling clouds and the low-fall- 
ing spray, 

The warble of birds in their musical lay. 

The numberless streams as they ripple 
along. 

Join in the sweet music and swell the glad 
song. 

The winds as they wliistle o'er land and 
o'er sea. 

All strike the key-note of profound har- 
mony. 

The lowing of cattle' the bleating of sheep. 

The cooing of doves and the tiny bird's 
peep. 

The voices of beasts — "Everything that 
hath breath," 

Praise God in the highest, ere silent in 
death. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



H3 



Let m.jrtal tongue sing with a thundering 
voice; , 

Let seraphs and saints in their Maker re- 
joice; 

Let all things adore him — the Infinite One, 

"By whom are all things," our Redeemer, 
God's Son. 

Let loud acclamations sound out the re- 
frain; 

Let all earth and heaven augment the glad 
strain; 

Let endless space vocal with symphonies 
sweet, 

Sweep on through the ages — forever re- 
peat 

His greatness and goodness, his love and 
liis might. 

Let kin.gdoms and nations all own him as 
right; 

Let sinful men pass 'neath the Calvary 
stream 

And crown him the highest — oh, heavenly 
theme I 

Each storm in mad fury that rages o'er 
earth. 

The fierce forked lightnings that spoil sin- 
ful mirth. 

The dull distant thunders which roll 
through the sky. 

All point to their Author, we can not deny. 

The workings of nature in all that we see. 



In cause and effect, or whatever it be; 
The solids and liquids, unseen and in view; 
The things all around us, which can but 

be true — • 
The Lord is the source and the maker, we 

know ; 
Let mortal humbly acknowledge it's so. 

B. E. W.4RREN. 



NOT WORLDS ON WORLDS. 

Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, 
Need we to prove a God is here; 

The daisy, fresh from nature's sleep, 
Tells of his hand in lines as clear. 

For who but he who arch'd the skies, 
And pours the dayspring's living flood, 

Wondrous alike in all he tries, 

Could raise the daisy's purple bud; 

Mold its green cup, its wiry stem; 

Its fringed border nicely spin; 
.\nd cut the gold-embossed gem 

That, set in silver, gleams within; 

.\nd fling it, unrestrain'd and free. 
O'er hill and dale and desert sod. 

That man, where'er he walks, may see 
In every step the stamp of God? 

joH.v Mason Good. 



CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE 



HIS UNFAILING LOVE. 

Long I wandered on the mountain. 

And upon the desert plain 
Parched, with not a stream or fountain. 

Budding branch, or waving grain. 
With no shade to shield the weary — 

Moss-bound turf or leafy tree — 
Helpless on this desert dreary, 

Jesus sought and rescued me. 

I was lost and unprotected, 

Far from home, and thinly clad. 
Tempest-tossed and sore aflSicted, 

Scarce a place to lean my head; 
But the tender .Shepherd sought me. 

Treading paths with briers strewn, 
To the cleansing fountain brought me. 

Washed and claimed me for his own. 

Oft I watched the golden sunrise 

Flood with light the country fair, 
Seemed her beauty to exhibit 

In that welcome atmosphere. 
Ripened grain each garner filling, 

Peace and plenty everywhere. 
Sunshine in each happy dwelling- — 

Mine, a hard and scanty fare. 

When at eve the sunset crimson 

Faded in the twilight hour, 
Grace with buds of rich profusion 

Made each home a restful bower; 



Precious children, meek and lowly, 
Knelt in humble praise and prayer, 

And the songs of rapture holy. 
Made me wish that I was there. 

And the lovely strains awaking 

In my homesick heart a cry. 
When those chords with grief were break- 
ing, 

Christ, the Nazarene, came by. 
In his own strong arms he bore me, 

Lest the thorns should pierce my feet; 
Then it was I heard the story 

Of his love so wondrous sweet. 

And he gave into my keeping. 

With a pardon bought and sealed. 
That which soon forbade my weeping. 

And my sin-sick spirit healed; 
'Twas a title dearly purchased 

To a home in Canaan fair, 
Where the sou! may rest unharassed. 

Sheltered in his love secure. 

And with this he kindly added 

(While I wept and wondered why) 
If my claim I well attended, 

That a mansion in the sky. 
He the while would be preparing. 

All adorned in beauty rare. 
And some time my deed transferring, 

I should gain admittance there. 



4U 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



How I prize the love that sought me, 

Prize tlie heritage he gave, 
Prize the land to which he brought me, 

Where the jfolden harvests wave! 
And though storms without are sweeping, 

Tempest-tossed no more am 1, 
"With tills title in my keeping 

To a mansion in the sky. 

JHNNIB MiST. 



HIS SWEET WILL. 

I have no cares, O blessed Will! 

For all my cares are thine; 
I live in triumph, Lord, for thou 

Hast made thy triumphs mine. 

And V hen it seems no chance or change 

From grief can set me free, 
Hope finds its strength in helplessness. 

And calmly waits on thee 

Man's weakness waiting upon God 

Its end can never miss, 
For men on earth no work can do 

More angel-like than this. 

Ride on, ride on, triumphantly, 
Thou glorious "Will! ride on: 

Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take 
The road that thou hast gone. 

He always wins who sides with God, 

To him no chance is lost; 
■God's will is sweetest to him when 

It triumphs at his cost. 

Ill that he blesses is our good. 

And unblessed good is ill; 
And all is right that seems most wrong. 

If it be his sweet will! 

Frederick William Fabeb. 



CHRIST. 

Jesus, my Savior, look on me, 

For I am weary and opprest: 
I come to cast my soul on thee; 
Thou art my Rest. 

Look down on me, for I am weak; 

I feel the toilsome journey's length; 
Thine aid omnipotent I seek: 

Thou art my Strength. 

I am bewildered on my way: 

Dark and tempestuous is the night; 

Oh! shed thou forth some cheering ray; 

Thou art my Light. 

Why feel I desolate and lone? 

Thy praises should my thoughts employ 
Thy presence can pour gladness down; 
Thou art my Joy. 

Thou hast on me so much bestowed. 
Surely I may relinquish health; 



Thou'st made me rich, yea, rich towards 
God; 

Thou art my Wealth. 

I hear the storms around me rise, 

But when I dread the impending shock. 
My spirit to her refuge flies; 
Thou art my Rock. 

When the accuser flings his darts, 

I look to thee — my terrors cease; 
Thy cross a hiding-place imparts; 
Thou art my Peace. 

Vain is all human help for me; 

I dare not trust an earthly prop; 
My sole reliance is on thee; 
Thou art my Hope. 

Full many a conflict must be fought; 

But shall I perish? shall I yield? 
Is that bright motto given for naught? 
Thou art my Sliield. 

Standing alone on Jordan's brink. 

In that tremendous, latest strife, 
Thou wilt not suffer me to sink? 
Tliou art my Life. 

Thou wilt my every want supply 

E'en to the end, whate'er befall; 
Through life, in death, eternally. 
Thou art my All. 



AT HOME IN GOD. 

thou, by long experience tried, 
Near whom no grief can long abide — 
My Lord, how full of sweet content 

1 pass my years of banishment! 

All scenes alike engaging prove. 
To souls impressed with sacred love; 
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee- 
In heav'n, in earth, or on the sea. 

To me remains nor place nor time; 
My country is in every clime: 
I can be calm and free from care 
On any shore, since God is there. 

While place we seek or place we shun. 
The soul finds happiness in none; 
But with a God to guide our way, 
'Tis equal joy to go or stay. 

Could I be cast where thou art not. 
That were indeed a dreadful lot; 
But regions none remote I call. 
Secure of finding God in all. 

My country. Lord, art thou alone. 
Nor other can I claim or own; 
The point where all my wishes meet, 
My law, my love, life's only sweet. 

I hold by nothing here below; 
Appoint my journey, and I go: 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



415 



Tliougli pierced by scorn, oppressed by 

pride, 
I feel the good — feel naught beside. 

No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
To souls on fire with heavenly love; 
Though men and devils both condemn. 
No gloomy days arise for them. 

All theni to his embrace repair; 
My soul, thou art no stranger there: 
There love divine shall be thy guard. 
And peace and safety thy reward. 

Madamb Gtjyon. 



STILL WATERS. 

Beside the still waters! Oh, infinite peace! 

\\nien God leadeth me there, my troubles 
all cease: 

And my feet, by the thorns of life's wil- 
derness torn. 

Are bathed in the dews that are wept by 
the morn. 

Beside the still waters, where pastures are 
green 

And the glad sky bends o'er them in shadow 
and sheen, 

I think of the glooms throrgh whose ter- 
rors I Hed, 

And bless the dear hand which my foot- 
steps hatii led. 

Beside the still waters my cross it grows 

light. 
That, faintinsT, I bore through the storms 

of the night — 
The same, though another it seems; and I 

pray 
No more that my burden be taken away. 

Beside the still waters! Ah! ripple and 

gleam 
A thousandfold rarer in loveliness seem 
For the billows and foam and the tumults 

of wrath 
In the tempests of trial that compassed my 

path. 

Beside the still waters my hunger is fed. 

And sweeter than manna drops dally my 
bread: 

While of Christ, the great Rock that shad- 
ows their brink. 

The full-flowing streams of salvation I 
drink 

Poside the still waters! All! why should I 
know 

Rough ways for my feet, and the torrents 
wild flow, 

When he who still leadetli me morning and 
night. 

Could hold me for aye in the spell of de- 
light? 

Beside the still waters, shut in by Go<''s 
hills. 



The exquisite sense of protection that fills 
My bosom is born of the perils o'erpast; 
As he led me at first, so he leads me at 
last! 

W. C. RicnAKOs. 



EVERLASTING JOY. 

Can the spirit of a mortal 
Live beyond the reach of trouble. 
Knowing not a painful struggle. 
Ever joyful in the Lord? 

He who is our great salvation 
And our high and strong munition 
Is to us a full fruition 

Of liis peace and endless joy. 

I no trouble and no sorrow 
See today, nor will I borrow 
Gloomy visions for the morrow; 
In my Jesus all is bright. 

To my soul all grace Is given, 
And all gloom afar is driven; 
Walking in the light of heaven 
All is everlasting peace. 

Jesus bids be joyful ever; 
He himself the wondrous Giver, 
Flows within, a constant river. 
And my spirit must rejoice. 

Daniel S. Warnbs. 



PRESENT SALVATION. 

Is it just the hope of heaven 
When this troubled life is o'er. 

And the thought that there's a mansion 
Waiting on the other shore? 

Is it just the hope of being 

Some day pure and white within, 

.\.nd that when across the river. 
We shall then be free from sin? 

fs it just the hope of having 
Peace and gladness by and by? 

Though on earth are sighs and sorrows. 
All is glorious in the sky? 

No! the hope I have now gives me 
Joy and peace beyond compare. 

And my blessed Lord has taken. 
All my trials and my care. 

Oh! the precious hope we harbor 

Is an anchor to the soul: 
Xever need the heart be troubled, 

Though the raging waters roll. 

Xo. we need not cross the river 
Ere our dark forebodings cease: 

For just now my heart's o'erflowing 
With a stream of perfect peace. 

Georgia C. Elliott, 



416 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



EBB AND FLOW. 

How easily He turns the tides! 

Just now tlie yellow beacli was dry; 
Just now tlie giant rocks all were bare, 

The sun beat hot and thirstily; 
Each seaweed waved its long brown hair, 

And beat and languished as in pain; 
Then, in a flashing moments space 

The white foam-feet which spurned the 
sand 
Paused in their joyous outward race, 

Wheeled, wavered, turned them to the 
land, 
And a swift legionary band 

Poured on the waiting shores again. 

How easily He turns the tides! 

The fulness of my yesterday 
Has vanished like a rapid dream, 

And pitiless and far away 
The cool, refreshing waters gleam; 

Grim rocks of dread and doubt and pain 
Hear their dark fronts where once was sea; 

But I can smile and wait for Him 
Who turns the tides so easily, 

Pills the spent rock-pool to its brim. 
And up from the horizon dim 

Leads His bright morning waves again 
.Susan Coolidge. 



LIFE S ANSWER. 

I know not if the dark or bright 

Shall be my lot; 
If that wherein my liopes delight 

Be blessed or not. 

It may be mine to drag for years 

Toil's heavy chain; 

Or day and night my meat be tears, 

On bed of pain. 

Dear faces may surround my hearth 
With smiles and glee; 

Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 
Be strange to me. 

My bark is wafted to the strand 

By breath divine. 
And on the helm there rests a hand 

Other than mine. 

One who has known in storms to sail 

I have on board ; 
Above the raving of the gale 

I hear my Lord. 

He holds me when the billows smite; 

I shall not fall. 
If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light; 

He tempers all. 

Safe to the land, safe to the land — 

The end is this; 
And then with him go hand in hand 

Far into bliss. 

Dean dp Canterbury 



SANCTIFICATION. 

Epb. 3; IT; Gal. 2: 20. 

Christ possessed; oh, glorious thought! 
Jesus dwells within my heart. 
Every member in his care, 
Jesus living everywhere. 

Christ possessed; he reigns within, 
Blessed cleansing from all sin; 
"I" dethroned, he takes my place, 
Fills me with his own pure grace. 

Christ posses.sed; my Lord is mine, 
Sweetest fellowship divine; 
Days of heaven on earth begun. 
Never now a setting sun. 

Christ possessed; 'ti« j'-y untold; 
All my care on him is rolled. 
Tender Shepherd, thou wilt keep 
Perfectly tliy yielded sheep. 



OUT OF AND INTO. 

He brought us out, that He might bring us in. — 
Deut. 6 : 23. 

Out of the distance and darkness so deep, 
Out of the settled and perilous sleep, 
Out of the region and shadow of death. 
Out of its foul and pestilent breath. 
Out of the bondage and wearying chains. 
Out of companionship ever with stains: 

Into the light and glory of God; 

Into the lioliest, made clean by the blood; 

Into his arms, the embrace and the kiss; 

Into the scene of ineffable bliss; 

Into the quiet, the infinite calm; 

Into the place of the song and the psalm. 
Wonderful love that has wrought all for 

me! 
Wonderful work that has thus set me free! 
WV)nderful ground upon which I have come! 
Wonderful tenderness, welcoming home! 

Out of the horror of being alone; 
Out, and forever, of being my own; 
Out of the hardness of heart and of will; 
Out of the longing which nothing could fill; 
Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife; 
Out of myself and of all I called life; 

Into communion with Father and Son; 

Into the sharing of all Jesus won; 

Into the ecstasies full to the brim; 

Into the having of all things with him; 

Into Christ Jesus, there ever to dwell; 

Into more blessing than words e'er can 
tell. 
Wonderful lowliness, draining my cup! 
Wonderful purpose, that ne'er gave me up! 
Wonderful patience, that waited so long! 
Wonderful glory, to which I belong! 

Out of my poverty into his wealth. 
Out of my sickness into pure health. 
Out of the false and into the true, 
Out of the old man into the new. 
Out of what measures the full depth of 
"lost"— 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



417 



Out of it all, and at infinite cost; 

Into what must with that cost correspond. 
Into tliat which there is nothing beyond, 
Into the union wliich nothing can part, 
Into what satisfies his and my heart. 
Into the deepest of joys ever had. 
Into the gladness of making God glad! 

Wonderful Being, whose face I'll behold! 

Wonderful story, then all to be told! 

Wonderful all the dread way that he trod! 

Wonderful end — he brought me to God! 



ALL THE WAY MY SAVIOR LEADS 
ME. 

All the way my Savior leads me; 

What have I to ask beside? 
Can I doubt his tender mercy 

^\nio tlirough life has been my guide? 
Heavenly peace, divinest comfort. 

Here by faith in him to dwell! 
For I know whatever befall me, 

Jesus doeth all things well. 

All the way my Savior leads me: 

Cheers each winding path I tread. 
Gives me grace for every trial, 

Feeds me with the living bread; 
Though my weary steps may falter. 

And my soul athirst may be, 
Gushing from the Rock before me, 

Lo! a spring of joy I see. 

All the way my Savior leads me; 

Oh, the fulness of his love! 
Perfect rest to me is promised 

In my Father's house above; 
When my spirit, clothed immortal. 

Wings its flight to realms of day. 
This my sons through endless ages: 

"Jesus led me all the way." 

Fannib j, Crosbt. 



JESUS ALONE. 

I caught a glimpse of Jes\is' face, 

A brilliant halo o'er it slione: 
Since then for earth I find no place, 

I love to gaze on him alone. 
The fairest pictures mortal hand 

Can ever paint will not compare 
With what I saw of glory grand 

And radiant glow reflected there. 

I heard the music of his voice. 

Its sweetness lingers on my ear: 
The saddest heart could but rejoice 

Such heavenly melody to hear. 
Since then e'en nature's sweetest notes 

Have but a hollow, tinkling sound: 
\\lien through the air that music floats, 

It leaves seraphic echoes round. 

The fragrant perfume of his breath 
■U'as borne by zephyr soft to me; 

'Twas sweeter far than lilies bathed 
In morning dew could ever be. 



Xo longer can earth's fairest flowers 
Delight ray soul, nor odors please; 

My soul has breathed from heaven's bowers 
Celestial fragrance on the breeze. 

His precious will revealed to me 

ilade human pleasures seem but dim; 
'Twas restful more than shadowy lea, 

More soothing far than vesper hymn. 
Earth's softest coucli and grandest throne 

Are not for rest and comfort meet; 
I fain his breast would lean upon. 

Or sit in meekness at his feet. 

fade, fade, ye fairest charms of earth. 

And you, ye brilliant shining gems 
Of earthly mine, how small your worth 

Compared to heaven's diadems! 
My Lord is all I want or need; 

Around his bright refulgent throne 
I'll praise him when from earth I'm freed. 

Then give me him and him alone. 

CLARi M. Brooks. 



HIMSELF. 

Once it was the blessing, 

Now it is the Lord; 
Once it was the feeling, 

Now it is his Word; 
Once his gifts I wanted. 

Now himself alone: 
Once 1 sought for healing 

Now the Healer own. 

Once 'twas painful trying. 

Now 'tis perfect trust; 
Once a half salvation, 

Now the uttermost; 
Once 'twas ceaseless holding, 

Now' he holds me fast; 
Once 'twas constant drifting, 

Now my anchor's cast. 

Once 'twas busy planning. 

Now 'tis trustful prayer; 
Once 'twas anxious caring. 

Now he has the care: 
Once 'twas what I wanted. 

Now what Jesus says: 
Once 'twas constant asking. 

Now 'tis ceaseless praise. 

Once it was my working, 

His it hence shall be; 
Once I tried to use him. 

Now he uses me: 
Once the power I wanted. 

Now the Mighty One; 
Once I worked for glory. 

Now his will alone. 

Once I hoped in Jesus, 

Now I know he's mine; 
Once my lamps were dying. 

Now tliey brightly shine; 
Once for death I waited. 

Now his coming hail. 
And my hopes are anchored 

Safe within the vail. 



418 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE CHILD OF A KING. 

My Father is rich in houses and lands; 
He holdeth the wealth of the world in his 

hands; 
Of rubies and diamonds, of silver and gold. 
His coffers are full; he has riches untold. 

My Father's own Son, the Savior of men. 
Once wandered o'er earth as the poorest of 

■ men; 
But now he is reigning forever on hig^h, 
And will give me a home in heaven by and 

by. 

I once was an outcast stranger on earth, 
A sinner by choice, and an "alien" by birth; 
But I've been "adopted," my name's writ- 
ten down; 
An heir to a mansion, a robe, and a crown. 

A tent or a cottage, why should I care? 
They're building a palace for me over 

there! 
Though exiled from home, yet still I may 

sing; 
All glory to God, I'm the child of a King! 

HATTia K. BUELL. 



Can never find, although they seek, 

A perfect rest. 
Nor e'er shall, until they lean 

On Jesus' breast. 

Adelaidh a. Pboctbb. 



THANKFULNESS. 

My God, I thank thee, who hast made 

Tlie earth so bright. 
So full of splendor and of Joy, 

Beauty and light: 
So many glorious things are here, 

Noble and right! 

I thank thee, too, that thou hast made 

Joy to abound; 
So many gentle thoughts and deeds 

Circling us round. 
That in the darkest spot of earth 

Some love is found. 

I thank thee more that all our joy 

Is touched with pain; 
That shadows fall on brightest hours: 

That thorns remain: 
So that earth's bliss may be our guide, 

And not our chain. 

For thou who knowest. Lord, how soon 
Our weak heart clings. 

Hast given us joys, tender and true. 
Yet all with wings. 

So that we see, gleaming on high. 
Diviner things. 

I thank thee Lord that thou hast kept 

The best in store: 
We have enough, yet not too much 

To long for more — 
A yearning for a deeper peace. 

Not known before. 

I thank thee. Lord, that here our souls, 
Though amply blest, 



REST IN JESUS. 

Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest; 
Far did I rove, and found no certain 
home; 
At last I sought them in his sheltering 
breast, 
W'ho opes his arms and bids the weary 
come; 
With him I found a home, a rest divine; 
And I since then am his, and he is mine. 

Yes, he is mine! and naught of earthly 
things. 
Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or 
power. 
The fame of heroes or the pomp of kings. 
Could tempt me to forego his love an 
hour. 
Go! worthless world, 1 cry, with all that's 

thine! 
Go! I my Savior's am, and he is mine. 

The good I have is from his stores sup- 
plied; 
The ill is only what he deems the best; 
He for my friend, I'm rich with naught be- 
side. 
And poor without him, though of all pos- 
sessed; 
Changes may come: I take or I resign; 
Content, while I am his. while he is mine. 

Whate'er may change, in him no change is 
seen; 
A glorious Sun, that wanes not nor de- 
clines; 

Above the clouds and storms he walks se- 
rene. 
And sweetly on his people's darkness 
sliines; 

All may depart: I fret not nor repine 

While I my Savior's am, while he is mine. 

He stays me falling, lifts me up when down, 
Reclaims me wandering, guards from ev- 
ery foe; 
Plants on my worthless brow the victor's 
crown, 
"UTiich, in return, before his feet I throw, 
Grieved that I can not better grace his 

shrine 
Who deigns to own me his, as he is mine. 

■^ATiile here, alas! I know but half his love. 
But half discern him, and but half adore; 
But when I meet him in the realms above, 
I hope to love him better, praise him 
more; 
And feel and tell, amid the choir divine, 
How fully I am his and he is mine. 

Hexrt Francis Lttb. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



419 



MY PRECIOUS SECRET. 

I've a secret in my bosom 

That the world can never know, 

In each trial reassurinij. 

As the moments onward go. 

Only those who do His will 

Can its priceless value tell. 

Round me sweep the waves of sorrow, 
And their surgings press the soul: 

With this secret still before me, 
Tempests rise and billows roll. 

Secret of undying love 

Lifts my heart to worlds above. 

At our comrades' fading sunset, 
When their spirits pass away. 

But for this most precious secret. 
Here my soul could scarcely stay. 

In accents sweet I then can liear. 

"He thy mansion will prepare" 

Fade life's transient dream of splendor. 
Let my soul in Him confide; 

For I know no hand can sever 
If this secret in me 'bide. 

Keep my heart and I shall be, 

"Thine through all eternity." 

JenncbMast. 



IS NOT THIS THE LAND OF 
BEULAH? 

I am dwelling on the mountain. 

Where the golden sunlight gleams 
O'er a land whose wondrous beauty 

Far exceeds my fondest dreams; 
Where the air is pure ethereal. 

Laden with the breath of flowers, 
The.v are blooming by the fountain. 

'Xeath the amaranthine bowers. 

I can see far down the mountain, 

^Hiere I wandered weary years. 
Often hindered in my journey 

By the ghosts of doubts and fears; 
Broken vows and disappointments 

Thickly sprinkled all the way. 
But the Spirit led unerring. 

To the land I hold today. 

I am drinking at the fountain. 

Where I ever would abide; 
For I've tasted life's pure river, 

And my soul is satisfied. 
There's no thirsting for life's pleasures, 

Xor adorning, rich and gay: 
For I've found a richer treasure. 

One that fadeth not away. 

Tell me not of heavy crosses 

Nor of burdens hard to bear; 
For I've found this great salvation 

Makes each burden light appear, 
And I love to follow Jesus, 

Gladly counting all but dross, 
Worldly honors all forsaking 

For the glory of the cross. 



Oh, the cross has wondrous glory! 

Oft I've proved this to be true; 
When I'm in the way so narrow, 

I can see a pathway through, 
And how sweetly Jesus whispers: 

"Take the cross; thou need'st not fear; 
For I've trod the way before thee. 

And the glory lingers near." 



MY SHEPHERD. 

"Ha leadeth me!" 
And so I need not seek my own wild way 

Across the desert wide; 
He knoweth where the soft green pastures 
lie, 
"Where the still waters glide, 
-Vnd how to reach the coolness of their 
rest 
Beneath the calm hillside. 

"He leadeth me!" 
And though it be by rugged, weary ways 

Where thorns spring sharp and sore; 
.\'o pathway can seem strange or desolate 

WTiere Jesus "goes before." 
His gentle shepherding my solace is, 

And gladness yet In store. 

"He leadeth me!" 
I shall not take one heedless step through 
all. 
In wind or heat or cold; 
And all day long He sees the peaceful end 

Through trials manifold; 
Ip the fair hillside, like some sweet sur- 
prise, 
Waiteth the quiet fold. 



THERE S A WAY. 

There's a way that no fowl knoweth 
And no vulture's eye hath seen; 

Over it no lion goeth, 

Neitlier passeth aught unclean. 

There's a way where weary mortals 
Find release from sin and strife; 

'Tis a way that's everlasting. 
Blessed way and truth and life. 

'Tis a way that's straight and narrow. 
Where we walk by simple faith. 

Even through the midst of trouble 
And the shadowy vale of death. 

'Tis a way beside still waters, 

Wliere are found the paths of peace, 

\\liere we rest amid green pastures. 
And our sighs and sorrows cease. 

There's a way, and walk ye In It 
Meekly, humbly with thy God; 

They shall run and not be weary. 
That are hid with Christ in God. 
Geobcia C, Elliott. 



420 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



A SERVICE SWEET. 

How sweet to trust in Jesus! 

To know no trust beside; 
To find in him a refuge, 

Our weary souls to hide; 
To lean on love unfeigned, 

And in that love abide. 

How sweet to follow Jesus! 

To seek no other road; 
So willingly and truly 

To walk the path he trod; 
'Tis hallowed by his footsteps. 

And nigrhest unto God. 

Oh, then, to learn of Jesus! 

This is a privilege sweet; 
To choose the better portion, 

Like Mary at his feet; 
With soul and body holy, 

For his blessed use made meet. 

How sweet to work for Jesus! 

To spread abroad his fame; 
To be for him a witness, 

FSearins' his cross and sliame; 
Tliat to the lost and erring 

His love we may proclaim. 

J. F. Carter. 



PARDONED. 

Darkly the shades of mystic gloom 

Fell 'round my prison wall; 
I felt the weight of grim despair 

Over my spirit fall; 
Weeping in chains of slavish fear. 

By demons held at bay, 
I saw the judgment looming near — 

My lips refused to pray. 

Helpless I fell at Jesus' feet, 

His pardon to implore; 
My broken spirit, penitent. 

Could plead for nothing more. 
From out the darkening clouds I saw 

One gleam of hope divine; 
To this I clung with trembling heart. 

And claimed the promise mine. 

Calmly my soul on wings of faith 

Arose to nobler sphere; 
The clo\ids dispersed above, beneath; 

Resounding through the air, 
I cauglit the sweet seraphic strains, 

A song for one redeemed ; 
Then as I joined the sacred lays 

The promise brightly beamed. 

I'irmly I stand without a fear, 

The promise can not fail; 
Its treasures reassure my heart 

When bitter foes assail. 
Our fondest hopes may fade and fall, 

Our kindred ties dissolve: 
No lowly state nor prison wall 

Can change our Father's love 

.TcNNiB Mast, 



A CHANGED HYMN. 

He batU juit a nuw ^outi in my muutb. — Psa. 
40 : 3. 

"Jesus, lover of my soul," 

Bids me in his bosom stay; 
And though billows round me roll, 

I am safely hid away; 
For he holds me in his arms. 

Quite beyond the tempest's reach. 
And he whispers to my heart 

Words unknown to human speech. 

"Other refuge have I none," 

He my habitation is; 
Here no evil can befall, 

I am kept in perfect peace; 
I am covered all day long 

With tlie shadow of his wings; 
Dwell in safety through the night; 

W^aking, this my spirit sings; 

"Tliou, O Christ, art all I want," 

Rest my helpless soul in thee; 
Thou wilt never leave alone. 

Nor forget to comfort me. 
Thou hast saved my soul from death. 

Thou hast scattered doubts and fears. 
And the sim.shine of thy face 

Sweetly drieth air my tears. 

"Tliou of life the fountain art," 

Thou dost wash me white as snow; 
I'm content to dwell apart 

From all else, thy love to know. 
Blessed Sun of righteousness, 

I so love to look on thee 
That my eyes are grow-ing blind 

To the things once dear to me. 



THE LOVE OF GOD. 

Deeper than the depths of ocean, 

Wider than the boundless sea. 
Higher than the lofty mountains. 

Is the love of God to me. 
Filled with all his glorious fulnesF, 

Sitting at his blessed feet. 
Doing only as he bids me. — 

ThJs is all my drink and meat. 

You may have these earthly pleasures. 

You may have earth's fame and store; 
I have found a richer treasure. 

One that satisfies me more. 
In God's love I find completeness 

And an everlasting rest, 
Joy that passeth understanding, 

Wliere my soul is ever blest. 

Trials, yes, tliey come quite often; 

Friends forsake me, that is true; 
Heavy burdens press upon me, 

Disappointments not a few^; 
But the love of .Tesus ever 

Makes these burdens light to bear, 
And the one who never leaves me 

Bids me cast on him my care. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



421 



So i ask for nothing better 

Than to ever simply know- 
That my life is pleasing Jesus, 

While I linger here below; 
And when all the toil is over, 

And when all the trials are past. 
Seated by his throne in glory 

I shall be with him at last. 

\V. J. HENKt. 



GOD HOLDS THE KEY. 

God holds the key of all unknown, 

And I am glad; 
If other hands should hold the key, 
Or if he trusted it to me, 

I might be sad. 

ViHiat if tomorrow's cares were here 

Without his rest? 
I'd rather he'd unlock the day. 
And as the hours swing hear him say, 

"My will is best." 

The very dimness of my sight 

Makes me secure; 
For, groping in my misty way, 
I feel his hand and hear him say, 

"My help is sure." 

I can not read his future plans. 

But this I know: 
I have the smiling of his face 
And all the refuge of his grace, 

While here below. 

Enough: this covers all my want! 

And so I rest; 
For what I can not he can see. 
And in his care I'll surely be 

Forever blest. 



HE HATH DONE IT. 

Sing, O heavens! the Lord hath done It! 

Sound it forth o'er land and sea! 
Jesus says, "I have redeemed thee; 

Now return, return to me!" 
Oh. return, for his own life-blood 

Paid the ransom, mad© us free 
Evermore and evermore! 

For I know that what he doeth 
Stands forever, fixed and true; 

Nothing can be added to it. 
Nothing left for us to do. 

Nothing can be taken from it — 
Don© for me and done for you 
Evermore and evermore. 

Listen now! the Lord hath done it! 

For he loved us unto death; 
It is finished! He lias saved us! 

Only trust to what he saifh. 
He hath done it! Com© and bless him; 

Spend in praise your ransomed breath 
Evermore and evermore. 



Oh, believe the Lord hath done it! 

Wherefore linger'.' wherefore doubt? 
All the cloud of black transgression 

He himself hath blotted out. 
Hp hath done it! Come and bless him, 

Swell the grand thanksgiving shout 
Evermore and evermore. 

rRANCE.S KlDLEI HiVERUAL. 



MY LORD AND I. 

[Sung in tlio rocks and caves of France during tUc 
Berce persecution of the Hugenots, three l.undrert 
year.i ago. ] 

I have a friend so precious. 

So very dear to me; 
He loves me with such tender love. 

He loves so faithfully; 
I could not live apart from him, 

I love to feel him nigh. 
And so we dwell together. 

My Lord and I. 

Sometimes I'm faint and weary; 

He knows that I am weak. 
And as he bids me lean on him. 

His help I gladly seek. 
He leads me in the paths of light 

Beneath a sunny sky. 
And so we walk together. 

My Lord and I. 

He knows how much I love him. 

He knows I love him well; 
But with what love he loved me. 

My tongue can never tell; 
It is an everlasting love. 

In ever rich supply. 
And so we love each other. 

My Lord and I. 

I tell him all my sorrows, 

I tell him all my joys, 
I tell him all that pleases me. 

I tell him what annoys: 
He tells me what I ought to do 

He tells me what to try. 
And so we walk together. 

My Lord and I. 

He knows how I am longing 

Some weary soul to win. 
And so he bids me go and speak 

A loving word for him: 
He bids me tell his wondrous love. 

And why he came to die: 
And so we work together. 

My Lord and I. 

I have his yoke upon me. 

And easy 'tis to bear; 
In the burden which he carries 

I gladly take a share: 
For then it is my happiness 

To have him always nigh: 
We bear the >'oke together. 

My Lord and I. 



422 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



JESUS ALL SUFFICIENT. 

Lonely? No; not lonely 
While Jesus standeth by; 

His presence always cheers me; 
I know that he is nigh. 

Friendless? No; not friendless, 
For Jesus is my friend; 

I change, but lie remaineth 
True, faithful to the end. 

Tired? No; not tired 

While leaning on his breast; 
My soul hath full enjoyment 

Of his eternal rest. 

Helpless? Yes; so helpless, 
But I am leaning hard 

Upon the arm of Jesus, 
And he is keeping guard. 

Waiting? Oh yes; waiting; 

He bids me watch and wait; 
I only wonder often 

What makes my Lord so late. 

Happy? Tes; so happy. 

With joy too deep for words; 

A precious, sure possession, 
A joy that is m.v Lord's. 



MY BEAUTIFUL SECRET. 

I have learned a beautiful secret, 
I know not how or where — 

But I know it is sweet and precious 
And true and glad and fair. 

And that God in heaven reveals it 
To all that have ears to hear. 

And I know that ere I learned it. 
My way was weary and hard; 

And somewhere in life's music 

There was always that which jarred- 

A hidden and dreary discord, 
Tliat all its sweetness marred. 

But my harp of life was lifted 
By One who knew the range 

Of its many strings — for he made it- 
And he struck a keynote strange. 

And beneath the touch of the Master 
I heard tlie music change. 

No longer it failed and faltered, 
No longer sobbed and strove; 

But it seemed to soar and mingle 
With the song of heaven above; 

For the pierced hand of the Master 
Had struck the keynote — Love. 

Thy heart's long-prisoned music, 
Let the Master's hand set free! 

Let him whisper his beautiful secret 
To thee, as he hath to me: 

"My love is the Golden Keynote 
Of all my will for thee." 



HYMN OF TRUST. 

O Love Divine that stooped to share 
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, 

On thee we cast each earth-born care. 
We smile at pain while thou art near. 

Though long the weary way we tread, 
And sorrow crown each lingering year. 

No path we shun, no darkness dread, 
Our hearts still whispering thou art near. 

When drooping pleasure turns to grief. 
And trembling faith is changed to fear. 

The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf. 
Shall softly tell us thou art near. 

On thee we fling our burdening woe, 

O Love Divine, forever dear. 
Content to suffer while we know, 

Living and dying, thou art near. 

Oliteb Wendell Holmes. 



ONCE AND NOW. 

Once I was in darkness. 

Now I'm in the light; 
Once I was discouraged, 

Now my hope is bright; 
Once I was in bondage. 

Now I'm free indeed; 
Once I pled my goodness. 

Now Christ's grace I plead. 

Once my peace was transient. 

Now a constant flow; 
Once my joy was fleeting, 

Now 'tis full, I know; 
Once my sky was cloudy 

In the night of sin; 
Now the day-star brightly 

Sliines his light within. 

Once I tried to live right. 

Now right lives in me; 
Once I sought for blessings, 

Now' tliey're flowing free; 
Once 'twas outward trying, 

Now 'tis inward trust; 
Once 'twas self-relying. 

Now on him I rest. 

Once the tempter bruised me. 

Now I'm bruising him; 
Once I fought for victory, 

Now it reigns within; 
Once I tried to conquer, 

Now Christ conquers me; 
Once I tried to keep him, 

Now he's keeping me. 

Once I worked for feeling, 

Thinking it was right; 
But T found by yieldin.e-, 

Faith is lost in sight; 
Once I feared my trials, 

Thinking I would fall; 
Now through Christ I'm reigning 

Victor over all. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



*23 



Once I sought for pleasure 

While I lived in sin; 
Now in Christ I've found it, 

Springing up within. 
Once my life was dreary, 

Now it's all delight; 
Once my path was weary, 

Now it's shining bright. 

Once my cares were o'er me. 

Now I'm over them; 
Once were foes before me, 

Trying to condemn. 
Now they stay behind me. 

Where they all belong; 
Since tlie Lord is with me, 

Victory is my song. 

B. E. WiBBEN. 



REST. 

O rest, thou goal of human thought 

Wliere'er mankind is found, 
Dost thou elude the earnest search. 

Fresh queries to propound? 

From Buddha's claim and Krishna's night 
Fledst thou in blank dismay? 

With Islam's sword, Confucius' might. 
Didst thou not deign to stay'' 

Through Persian worship of the sun 

Nor Zoroaster's creed. 
Nor Roman, Grecian gods not few, 

Cam'st thou, the soul's great need? 

Whence art thou then, thou far-sought 
boon, 

Eluding mortal grasp? 
Is there indeed from earthly woes 

A freedom found at last? 

Methinks I hear from angels' choir 

With heavenly gates ajar, 
"Good will on earth and peace to men!" 

Come floating from afar. 

Midst mortal failure so complete 

And human heart unblest. 
Hear — One from heaven stoops to speak; 

"Come, I will give you rest." 

'Tis Christ immortal. Son of God, 

Clothed in mortality. 
From heaven to earth for human ills 

Come with tranquillity. 

Vicarious in atonement given, 

For human guilt to sate; 
Victorious o'er the grave arisen. 

The heart to new create. 

The soul renewed and evil purged. 

Peace like a river flows. 
Rest undisturbed of outer ills; 

Within is all repose. 

The key? 'Tis faith, aye, simple faith; 
Himself it brings benign; 



His presence then — oh, matchless thought! 
'Tis rest, e'en peace divine. 

The mystery 'tis, for ages hid. 
But now through gospel story 

Revealed clear — unfathomed love! 
"Christ in you, hope of glory." 

To enter let us labor then, 

Nor fail by unbelief. 
Great God of heaven, help us all 

This treasure-trove receive. 

H. W. Nelson. 



HE LEADETH ME. 

He leadeth me! oh, blessed thought! 

Oh, words with heavenly comfort fraught! 

Whate'er I do, where'er I be. 

Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me. 

Sometimes mid scenes of deepest gloom. 
Sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom, 
By waters still, o'er troubled sea — 
Still 'tis his hand that leadeth me. 

Lord, I would clasp thy hand in mine, 
Nor ever murmur nor repine — 
Content, whatever lot I see. 
Since 'tis my God that leadeth me. 

And when my task on earth is done. 
When, by thy grace, the victory's won. 
E'en death's cold wave I will not flee, 
Since God through Jordan leadeth me. 

.1. H. GiLMORE. 



SWEETLY RESTING. 

In the rifted Rock I'm resting. 

Safely sheltered I abide; 
There no foes nor storms molest me, 

While within the cleft I hide. 

Refrain. 
Now I'm resting, sweetly resting, 

In the cleft once made for me; 
Jesus, blessed Rock of Ages, 

I will hide myself in thee. 

Long pursued by sin and Satan, 
Weary, sad, I longed for rest; 

Then I found this heav'nly shelter, 
Opened in my Savior's breast. 

Peace, which passeth understanding, 
Joy, the world can never give. 

Now in Jesus I am finding: 
In his smiles of love I live. 

In the rifted Rock I'll hide me 
Till the storms of life are past, 

All secure in this blessed refuge, 
Heeding not the fiercest blast. 

Mart D. JiHES. 



42i 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. 

I shall not want, for Christ the Lord 

My Shepherd is become; 
By waters still, in pastures green, 

He niaketh me lie down. 

And he restores my soul today, 
My straying feet doth make 

To walk in paths of righteousness. 
Just for his own name's sake. 

Yea, thougii I walk the vale of death, 

No evil will I fear; 
Thy rod and staff, they comfort me. 

And thou, O Lord, art near. 

A table thou prepares! me 

Before my very foes; 
My head with oil thou dost anoint. 

My cup of joy o'erflows. 

Yes, surely mercy, peace, and love 

Shall ever follow me, 
And I shall dwell with God above 

Through all eternity. 

Georgia C. Elliott 



HE LEADETH ME. 

In pastures green? Not always; sometimes 

He, 
VVJio knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me 
In weary ways, where lieavy shadows be. 

Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and 

bright. 
Out of the sunshine into darkest night; 
I oft would faint with sorrow and affright — 

Only for this: I know He holds my hand; 

So whether in green or desert land. 

I trust, although I may not understand. 

And by still waters? No: not always so; 
Ofttimes the heavy tempests round me 

blow. 
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go. 

Btit when the storms beat loudest, and I cry 
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by. 
And whispers to my soul, "Lo, it is I.'' 

Above the tempest wild I hear him say, 
"Beyond this darkness lies the perfect day; 
In ever.v path of thine I lead the way." 

So whether on the hilltop high and fair 
I dwell, or in the sunshine valleys, where 
The shadows lie — what matter? He is there. 

And more than this: where'er the pathway 

lead 
He gives no helpless, broken reed. 
But His own hand, sufficient for my need. 

So where He leads me I can safely go; 
And in the blessed hereafter I shall know 
Why in His wisdom He hath led me so. 



SAFE IN JESUS. 

Tliough dark clouds gather round me. 
Though evil may surround me. 
My blessed Lord has found me 

And guards my way. 
In him I rest completely. 
In him I walk discreetly, 
In him I live so sweetly, 

Day after day. 

Should adverse winds be blowing, 
I find it toilsome rowing. 
Yet ever blessed in knowing 

I'm not alone. 
Oh, yes, he'll oft correct me. 
In love and mercy clieck me. 
And to better things direct me 

Than I have known. 

I'm hid away forever. 

The world allures me never. 

And none can pluck me ever 

From Father's hand. 
Oh, come and know the pleasure 
Of heaven's hidden treasure. 
Given without measure 

To this little band. 

All care and pain unheeding. 
Though hearts be often bleeding. 
His chosen know they're needing 

His chastenin.g rod. 
Yes, clouds, but silver lining; 
Behind the sun's still shining: 
The heart knows no repining. 

That walks witli God. 

Mattib Gesoen, 



MY TREASURE. 

I have a very precious gift. 

Presented by a loving friend: 
Its equal you would scarcely find. 

If all around the world you send; 
A gem so beautiful and rare, 

I'm sure I could not tell its worth; 
No diadem so rich e'er crowned 

A king or prince of royal birth. 

Most wonderful 'tis to relate 

What this great gift has done for me; 
It makes me happy all the day: 

My life is like the tranquil sea: 
So full of peace, of love, and joy, 

I'm satisfied and all content; 
My cares and sorrows all have fled. 

Since this sweet gift to me was sent. 

In poverty I once was bound. 

But now I'm riclier than a king-; 
The wealth of nations could not give. 

Nor to my heart such pleasure bring: 
In filthy garments once was clad. 

My clothint; tattered, worn, and old: 
But now I'm dressed in snowy white. 

In garments wrought with purest gold. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



425 



In sickness 'tis a liealing balm 

That drives each ache and pain away; 
It sweetens all the toil of life, 

And brings good cheer to every day: 
For all the riches of the world, 

I would not from my treasure part; 
'Tis hidden in a place secure — 

I keep it locked within my heart. 

You ask me what this treasure is 

That to my life such blessings gives, 
The joy and comfort of my soul, 

That keeps me sweet and in me lives; 
It is tlie greatest of all gifts 

That God could give to any one. 
The brightest gem of heaven above, 

'Tis Jesus Christ, God's only Son. 

James B. Branam. 



TRUST. 

The child leans on its parents' breast, 
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest; 
The bird sits singing by its nest, 

And tells aloud 
His trust in God, and so is blest 
'Neath every cloud. 

He hath no store, he sows no seed. 
Yet sings aloud, and doth not need; 
By flowing streams or grassy mead 

He sings to shame 
Men, wlio forget, in fear of need, 

A Father's name. 

Tlie heart that trusts forever sings, 
And feels as light as it had wings; 
A well of peace within it springs; 

Come good or ill, 
TVliate'er today, tomorrow, brings. 

It is his will! 

ISAAO WiLLUMS. 



THE ALTAR OF PRAYER. 

You may sing of the mountains 

All mantled in green. 
And the grand rolling rivers 

Outstretchin.s between; 
Of the beautiful flowers 

Adorning the plain. 
And the rich-laden vessels 

That float on the main: 

You may talk, if you please, of 

The pleasures of earth. 
Of your coveted prospects, of 

Wealth and of mirth: 
But this world altogether, could 

Never compare 
^Vith a sweet sense of pardon 

In answer to prayer. 

You may boast of the warrior 
"With high sounding name, 

■Who has won for himself and 
His country a fame; 



But the glory of Jesus excels 

It as far 
As the sun in effulgence 

Eclipses a star. 

You may dream of contentment 

Apart from the fold, 
With your chosen companions 

And coffers of gold; 
But so long as the Master 

■U'ill deign to be there, 
I will seek my repose 

At the altar of prayer. 



OH, SING OF HIS MIGHTY LOVE. 

Oh, bliss of the purified, bliss of the free! 
I plunge in the crimson tide opened for me; 
O'er sin and uncleanness exulting I stand. 
And point to the print of the nails in His 
hand. 

Oh, bliss of the purified! Jesus is mine; 
No longer in dread condemnation I pine; 
In conscious salvation I sing of his grace 
Who lifteth upon me the light of his face. 

Oh, bliss of the purified, bliss of the pure! 
No wound hath the soul that his blood can 

not cure. 
No sorrow-bowed head but may sweetly 

find rest. 
No tears but may dry them on Jesus' deai 

breast. 

O Jesus, tlie crucified! thee will I sing. 
My blessed Redeemer, my God, and m) 

King; 
My soul, filled with rapture, shall shout 

o'er the grave 
And triumph in death in the "Mighty to 

^3-^'^' Frank Bottome. 



JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING. 

Sometimes a light surprises 

The Christian while he sings; 
It is the Lord, who rises 

With liealing in his wings, 
^lien comforts are declining. 

He grants the soul again 
A season of clear shining. 

To cheer it after rain. 

In holy contemplation. 

We sweetly then pursue 
The theme of God's salvation. 

And find it ever new; 
Set free from present sorrow, 

We cheerfully can say, 
"F.'en let the unknown tomorrow 

Bring with it what it may." 

It can bring with it nothing 
But he will bear us through; 

VHio gives the lilies clothing 
Will clothe his people, too; 



426 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Beneath the spreading; heavens. 

No creature but is fed, 
And he who feeds the ravens 

Will give his children bread. 

Though vine nor fig-tree neither 

Their wonted fruit should bear, 
Though all the fields should wither, 

>for flocks nor herds be there; 
Yet God the same abiding. 

His praise shall tune my voice. 
For while in him confiding 

I can not but rejoice. 

William Cowper. 



THE BELIEVER S PRIVILEGE. 

Enoch walked with God. — Gen. 5 : 24. 

To walk with God, O fellowship divine! 
Man's highest state on earth — Lord, be it 

mine! 
With thee may I a close communion hold, 
To thee the deep recesses of my heart un- 
fold; 
Yes, tell thee all, each weary care and 

grief 
Into thy bosom pour till there I find relief. 
Oh! let me walk with thee, thou Mighty 

One; 
Lean on thine arm, and trust thy love 

alone; 
With thee hold converse sweet where'er I 

go, 
Thy smile of love my highest bliss below; 
With thee transact life's business, doing all 
With single aim for thee, as thou dost call; 
My every comfort at thy hand receive; 
My every talent to thy glory give: 
Thy counsel seek in every trying hour; 
In all my weakness trust thy mighty power. 
Oh, may this high companionship he mine, 
And all my life by its refiection shine, 
My great, my wise, my never-failing Friend, 
Wliose love no change can know, nor turn. 

nor end! 
My Savior-God! who gavest thy life forme. 
Let nothing come between my heart and 

thee. 
From thee no thought, no secret, would I 

keep. 
But on thy breast my tears of anguish 

weep. 
My every wound to thee I take to heal. 
For thou art touched with every pang I 

feel. 
O Friend of friends, the faithful, true, and 

tried, 
In thee, and thee alone, I now confide. 
Karth's "broken cisterns" — ah! they all 

have proved 
Unsatisfying — vain — ^liowever loved; 
The false will fail: the fondest — they must 

go! 
Oh! thus it is with all we love below. 
From things of earth, then, let my heart 

be free. 
And find its happiness, my Lord, in thee: 
Thy Holy Spirit for my Guide and Guest, 



Whate'er my lot, I must be safe and blest. 
Washed in thy blood, from all my guilt 

made clean. 
In thee, my Righteousness, alone I'm seen. 
Thy home my home, thy God and Father 

mine! 
Dead to the world, my life is hid with thine; 
Its highest honors fade before my view; 
Its pleasures — I can trample on them too. 
With thee by faith I walk in crowds — 

alone, 
Making to thee my wants and wishes 

known. 
Drawing from thee my daily strength in 

prajer. 
Finding thine arm sustains me everywhere; 
While through the clouds of sin and woe 

the light 
Of coming glory shines more sweetly 

bright; 
-Vnd this my daily boast, my aim, my end. 
That my Redeemer is my God — my Friend! 



MY SOUL IS SATISFIED. 

All this world, its wealtli and honor. 
Can not sate the human breast: 

But when filled witli God, our Father, 
Every want is fully blest. 

All my soul can wish forever, 
I do find in Christ replete; 

Every blessing and tlie Giver 
In my peaceful bosom meet. 

Is thy life bereft of comfort. 
And thy heart a cheerless spot? 

Say not Christ is in thy desert. 
For we can believe it not. 

Can a bird drink up the ocean. 

Thirsting still from shore to shore? 

Or the God of all creation 

Leave thy heart yet craving more? 

Would my soul could more encompass 
Heaven's glory, willed to me; 

Oh, the love of God so precious! 
'Tis a deep and slioreless sea. 

Daniel S. WASNfflt. 



SIMPLE TRUST. 

Still, still, without ceasing, 

I feel it increasing. 
This fervor of holy desire; 

And often exclaim, 

Let me die in the flame 
Of a love that can never expire. 

Had I words to explain 

Wliat she must sustain 
W^ho dies to the world and its ways: 

How joy and affriglit, 

Distress and delight. 
Alternately checker her days, — 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



427 



Thou, sweetly severe! 

I would make thee appear. 
In all thou art pleased to award. 

Not more in the sweet 

Than the bitter I meet 
My tender and merciful Lord. 

This faith, in the daric. 

Pursuing its mark. 
Through many sharp trials of love. 

Is the sorrowful waste 

That is to be passed 
On the way to the Canaan above. 

Madams Gutok. 



BLEST BE THE TIE THAT BINDS. 

Blest be the tie that binds 

Our hearts in Christian love! 
The fellowship of kindred minds 
- Is like to that above. 

Before our Father's throne 
'We pour our ardent prayers: 

Our fears, our hopes, our aims, are one. 
Our comforts and our cares. 

We share our mutual woes. 

Our mutual burdens bear. 
And often for each other flows 

The sympathizing: tear. 

TVlien we asunder part, 
It gives us inward pain: 
But we shall still be joined in heart. 
And hope to meet asrain. 

This glorious hope revives 

Our courage by the way. 
While each in expectation lives 

And longs to see the day. 

From sorrow, toil, and pain. 

And sin, we shall be free. 
And perfect love and friendship reign, 

Through all eternity. 

John FaWC£XT. 



Oh, fellowship, my brethren dear. 

In bonds of perfect love! 
How blessed the seal of union here 

With all the saints above! 

This fellowship with Father, Son, 

And all who love the Lord, 
Is heaven here on earth begun: 

'Tis Paradise restored. 

D.1NIEL S. Warnek. 



HOLY FELLOWSHIP. 

Sweet fellowship, thy crystal tide 

Flows joyful in our souls: 
Baptized in one, naught can divide, 

Wliile heavenly peace controls. 

O brethren, how our spirits blend 

In fellowship so dear! 
Though sundered far by God's command, 

We feel you still so near. 

God over all and through us all, 

In floods of blissful light. 
Is fellowship in every soul 

That's pure in heaven's sight. 



THE BLESSED NATION. 

I'sa. 33: 12. 

He holds In remembrance 

Each one of his fold; 
Their hairs are all numbered. 

Their names are all told; 
Their prayers are all answered, 

Their cries are all heard; 
How blessed is the nation 

Whose God is the Lord! 

Their bread, it is given, 

The finest of wheat; 
The waters they rest by 

Are quiet and sweet: 
He givetli them slumber, 

As saith his Word: 
How blessed is the nation 

Whose God is the Lord! 

•Tis true they are strangers 

And pilgrims on earth, 
But theirs is a joy of 

Unspeakable worth. 
All robed in fine linen. 

With armor and sword — 
How blessed is the nation 

Whose God is the Lord! 

They travel the highway 

Where nothing unclean 
Ever is met with 

Or ever is seen; 
There's no sound of sighing; 

Songs of gladness are heard; 
How blessed is the nation 

Whose God is the Lord! 

And lest they should stumble 

Or wander astray, 
A voice is heard saying, 

"This is the way"; 
They're guarded and guided 

By the eye of the Lord: 
How blessed is the nation 

Whose God is the Lord! 

And theirs Is the city 

Wliose gates are of praise. 
Whose light is far brighter 

Than seven bright days; 
A mansion for each one 

Therein is prepared: 
Tea, blessed is the nation 

Whose God is the Lord! 

Geobgia C. Elliott. 



4S8 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



MY WINDOW IVY. 

Over my window tlie ivy climbs: 

Its roots are in liomely jars, 
But all day long it looks at the sun, 

And at night looks out at the stars. 

The dust of the room may dim its green. 

But I call to the breezy air: 
"Come in, come in, good friend of mine! 

And make my garden fair." 

So the ivy thrives from morn to morn. 
Its leaves all turned to the light; 

And it gladdens my soul with its tender 
green. 
And teaches me day and night. 

Wliat though my lot is in lonely place. 
And my spirit behind the bars? 

All the long day I may look at the sun, 
And at night look out at the stars. 

^^^lat though the dust of earth would dim? 

There's a glorious outer air 
That will sweep through my soul if I let 
it in. 

And make it fresh and fair. 

Dear God! let me grow from day to day, 

Clinging and sunny and bright! 
Though planted in shade, thy window is 
near. 
And my leaves may turn to the light. 
MARt Mapes Dodge. 



PRESENT EXPERIENCE. 

Some say that in heaven a sinner 

There shall never, no. never be found. 
But that in this lowland of sorrow 

To the lusts of the flesli we are bound: 
But those who have come to the Savior 

Have washed in the all-cleansin.g tide, 
Are now singing of perfect salvation 

As they stand, all redeemed, b his side 

They think that the Spirit of promise, 

T\Tiich to the disciples was given 
To fit and prepare them for service. 

Has long since gone back up to heaven: 
But we find that the promise included 

The saints that are living today. 
For he strengthens and comforts and guides 
us. 

And says he'll be with us alway. 

They say that away in a new world 

Is a city with streets of pure gold. 
That after our life's race is ended 

We shall drink of its iileasures untold: 
But the spiritual city of Zion. 

We enter through Jesus today. 
And the saints in its glory are walking: 

Their sins have been all washed away. 

They tell us that over in glory 

All the Christians shall there be made 
one. 



But here amid so much confusion 
That surely can never be done; 

But the glory tliat Jesus has given 
From Babylon bondage sets free. 

And the sanctified saints now are dwelling 
In a perfect and sweet unity. 

W. J. Hknbt. 



TIS SO SWEET. 

'Tis so sweet just to know, 

As I with my Savior go, 
If I heed every sacred command, 

That when sorrows betide, 

I may in the refuge hide: 
He upholds me secure with his hand. 

'Tis so sweet just to feel 

As before him low I kneel 
That he knows all my burdens and needs, 

Counts each one of my tears, 
* Bids me cease from all my fears. 
And his Spirit for me intercedes. 

'Tis so sweet just to know 

That my Father loves me so 
He will list to my heart's faintest cry: 

I will trust in his grace. 

For I see his smiling face; 
'Tis so sweet just to know he is nigh. 

I'll rejoice in the shame 

When I suffer for his name; 
He will only permit what is best; 

Holy angels are near 

Those who walk in godly fear; 
'Tis so sweet just to trust him and rest. 

Oh, how sweet it will be 

Wlien my Savior I shall see. 
In his presence to dwell evermore! 

I will share in the loss 

And reproaches of his cross 
For the joy that is waiting before. 

Clara .\I. Brooks. 



MY HEART S STORY. 

I will not doubt though all my ships at 
sea 
Come drifting home with broken masts and 

sails: 
I will believe the Hand which never fails. 
From seeming evil worketh good for me. 
And though I weep because those sails are 

tattered. 
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie 
shattered, 

"I trust in thee." 



I will not doubt though all my prayers 
return 
Unanswered from the still white realm 

above; 
I will believe it is an all-wise love 

Wliich has refused these things for which 
I yearn ; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



■i'2y 



And thougrh at times I can not keep from 

grieving. 
Yet the pure ardor of my fixed believing 
Undimmed shall burn. 

I will not doubt though sorrows fall like 
rain. 
And troubles swarm like bees about the 

hive: 
I will believe the heights for which I strive 
Are only reached by anguish and by pain; 
And though I groan and writhe beneath my 

crosses, 
I yet shall see through my severest losses 
The greater gain. 

I will not doubt. Well anchored in this 
faith, 
Like some staunch ship my soul braves ev- 
ery gale; 
Calm in this confidence, it will not quail 
To breast the mighty unknown sea of 
death. 
E'en then I'll cry, though body parts with 

spirit, 
"I do not doubt," so listening worlds may 
hear it. 

With my last breath! 



JOYFUL HOURS. 

This is an adaptation from N'ewton's h.vmn. 
"How tedious and tasteless the hours 
When Jesus no longer I see." 
to express a better Christian experience. 

How happy and joyful the hours, 

As Jesus I constantly see! 
As fragrance from heaven's sweet bowers 

Has now such great sweetness to me, 
Earth's pleasures to me are all dim. 

The world strives in vain to look gay; 
And since I am dead unto sin. 

December's as pleasant as May. 

His name yields the richest perfume. 

And sweeter than music his voice; 
His presence disperses my gloom 

And makes all within me rejoice. 
Now while I'm abiding in him, 

I've nothing to wish or to fear; 
I'm now dead indeed unto sin. 

And summer now lasts all the year. 

Content with the fulness of grace. 

My all to his will is resigned; 
, No changes of season or place 

Can make any change in my mind. 
I'm bles-sed with the fulness of love. 

My heart is with gladness so free; 
And prisons do palaces prove, 

^"liile Jesus so sweetly saves me. 

My Lord, now indeed I am thine. 

And thou art my sun and my lay. 
I never can languish or pine, 

Aly sun shines so bright all the day; 
The clouds are all gone from my sky, 

I've opened the Master each door; 
I'm vaiting to soar up on high, 

■^Ith Je':us to dwell evermore- 



I OUGHT TO LOVE MY SAVIOR. 

I ought to love my Savior: 

Ha loved me long ago. 
Looked on my soul witli favor 

\Mien deep in guilt and woe; 
And though my sin had grieved him. 

His Fatlier's law had crossed, 
Love drew him down from heaven, 

To seek and save the lost. 

I ought to love my Savior; 

He bore my sin and shame; 
From glory to the manger 

On wings of love he came: 
Ha trod this earth in sorrow. 

Endured the pains of hell, 
That I should not be banished. 

But in his glory dwell. 

I ought to love my Savior; 

Upon the cross he died; 
Beliold the world's Creator! 

"My God! my God!" he cried. 
Oh, listen to those accents 

Of love divine so free: 
"Tis finished!" — my salvation; 

Thine shall the glory be. 

I ought to love my Savior; 

He pardoned all my sin 
Then sanctified my nature. 

And keeps me pure within; 
He fills me with his glory. 

And bears my soul above 
This life: oh, wondrous story! 

'Tis love, redeeming love. 

O Christ! I can but love thee; 

What heart could e'er withhold 
A love that cost so dearly. 

The oft'ring of thy soul? 
O king of love immortal! 

Reign in my heart alone. 
And flood this earthen temple 

With glory from the throne. 

Daniei, S. Wabner. 



THE master's hand. 

Phil. 1 ; 21. 

"To me to live is Christ," and yet the days 

Are days of toiling men; 
We rise at morn, and tread the beaten 
ways. 

And lay us down again. 

How is it that this base, unsightly life 

Can yet be Christ alone? 
Our common need, and weariness, and 
strife, 

■While common days wear on? 

Then saw I how before a Master wise 

A shapeless stone was set; 
He said, "Therein a form of beauty lies 

Though none behold it yet. 



430 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"When all beside it shall be hewn away, 
That glorious shape shall stand, 

In beauty of the everlasting day, 
Of the unsullied land." 

Thus is it with the homely life around. 

There hidden, Christ abides; 
Still by the single eye forever found 

That seeketh none beside. 

^yJlen hewn and shaped till self no more is 
found. 

Self, ended at thy cross; 
The precious freed from all the vile around, 

No gain, but blessed loss. 

Then Christ alone remains — the former 
things 
Forever passed away; 
And unto liim the heart in gladness sings 
All through the weary day. 

H. Soso. 



BEFORE THE CROSS. 

Sweet the moments, rich in blessing, 
Whicli before tlie cross 1 spend. 

Life and health and peace possessing. 
From the sinner's dying Friend. 

Love and grief my heart dividing. 
With my tears liis feet I'll bathe; 

Constant still, in faith abiding, 
Life deriving from his death. 

Truly blessed is this station, 
Low before his cross to lie. 

While I see divine compassion 
Beaming in his gracious eye. 

Here I'll sit — forever viewing 
Mercy streaming in his blood; 

Precious drops, my soul bedewing. 
Plead and claim my peace with God. 

Here it is I find my heaven, 
WTiile upon the cross I gaze; 

Love I much? I'm more forgiven — 
I'm a miracle of grace. 

May I still enjoy this feeling, 

In all need to Jesus go; 
Prove his wounds each day more healing. 

And himself more fully know. 

James ,\llen. 



ALL FORGIVEN. 

"All forgiven" is the message 

Carried by the Spirit's power 
To a weary, trembling sinner: 

In repentance's darkest hour, 
■Words of sweetest, purest accents 

Known to human mind and ear, 
For it is the Savior speaking 

To allay each guilty fear. 



"All forgiven"; but the memory 

Brings tlie sadness o'er and o'er, 
Of the days and hours but wasted. 

That shall come to us no more; 
Of the sad result of faltering; 

Of the folly and the sin; 
Of the heartaches given others, 

As they tried our souls to win. 

"All forgiven!" so we bury 

From our sight the woful theme. 
Seeing only loving mercy, 

In its beauteous cheering gleam, 
As it woos to faithful living. 

To a love that's ever true. 
To a strong and deep devotion. 

That will all his bidding do. 

"All forgiven!" "All forgiven!" 

Let us sing the sweet refrain. 
Let us praise him and adore him. 

Let us sing again, again, 
"All forgiven!" "All forgiven!" 

Washed in blood — made pure and white; 
Walking with him always — ever 

In his glory clear and bright. 

JE.VNIB C. RUTTV. 



VERSES ON THE TWENTV-THIRD 
PSALM. 

Lord, my shepherd kind and good, 
To thee I look for care and food; 

My every need supply. 
Cause me to lie in pastures green 
Beside tlie pure and quiet stream 

Beneath the azure sky. 

Thou art the shepherd of my soul; 
Restore, O Lord, and keep me whole; 

Lead me in paths of peace: 
For thy name's sake direct my way; 
While closely by thy side I stay, 

Thy glory still increase. 

And though I tread the valley dark, 
Where mortal and immortal part, 

I will no evil fear; 
For thou art even with me still. 

1 love to do thy precious will, 
Thy softest whisper hear. 

Thou hast for me a table grand 
Filled with the fattest of the land. 

Prepared before their face 
Who seek my hurt, but all in vain; 
For thou hast made my way so plain 

Through thy abundant grace. 

Anoint my head with oil divine; 
Oh, let thy glory in me shine! 

My cup o'erfiows with Joy: 
Surely thy goodness shall increase 
And follow me till life shall cease; 

Naught can my soul destroy. 

G. Q. CoPLix. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Experience. 



431 



A BENEDICTION, 

The Lord Almighty bless thee 
From his own heavenly store; 

The fulness of his presence 
Be with thee evermore. 

— Exod. 33:14. 

May he his Spirit give thee 
Full freely from his store — 

A well of living water, 
A fountain flowing o'er. 

— John 4: 14. 

May Jesus hold thee safely, 
Close to his beating heart, 

And to thy soul's deep yearning 
His love and life impart. 

— Deut. 33: 12. 

And may thine ears be opened 

To hear his whisper low 
Down in thy heart's deep chambers, 

TVliere he alone can go. 

— Psa. 25: 14. 

In blessing, may he bless thee, 
Filled full to flowing o'er. 

With gifts from heaven above thee, 
Both now and evermore. 

—Mai. 3: 10. 



HIS VOICE I HEAR. 

I can not tell when the thunders peal. 

How fiercely the storm may rage. 
Nor how dense are the shades of the night 
that steal 

O'er the path of my pilgrimage; 
But I know with my Savior always near. 

As that night on the Galilee. 
The tempest will cease when his voice I 
hear. 

And the darkest shadows flee. 

I can not see through the darksome clouds 

His image so wondrous fair; 
I forget sometimes when the gloom en- 
shrouds 

The mansion awaiting there: 
But if on the wings of faith I soar 

In the strength of his Word alone. 
My soul can drink till I want no more, 

From fountains of love unknown. 

I can not drink one draught of pain 

From the cup once drained for me. 
Or bear the heat on the desert plain. 

Nor the grief of Gethsemane; 
But I know if his cross I meekly bear, 

If I labor and watch and pray, 
His sufferings I a part my share 

From thorns in the narrow way. 

I can not see for the veil between 

The beautiful gates ajar, 
The streets of gold and the living green 

On the banks of the river there; 



But I know somewhere on that heavenly 
strand 

Is a mansion and robe and crown. 
Preserved by the Savior's loving hand 

Till my work on earth is done. 

JENNIO MAST. 



THE BOND OF PERFECTNESS. 

How sweet this bond of perfectness, 
The wondrous love of Jesus! 

A pure foretaste of heaven's bliss, 
O fellowship so precious! 

The bond that circles heaven's pure — 
Oh, wondrous, wondrous story! — 

Has dropped around the holy liere. 
And fills us all with glory. 

Oh, praise the Lord for love divine 
That binds us all together! 

A thousand chords our hearts entwine. 
Forever and forever. 

"God over all and in us all," 
And througli each holy brother; 

No power of earth or hell, withal, 
Can rend us from each other. 

Oh, mystery of heaven's peace! 

Oh, bond of heaven's union! 
Our souls in fellowship embrace, 

And live in sweet communion. 

O brethren, how this perfect love 

Unites us all in Jesus! 
One heart and soul and mind, we prove 

The. union heaven gave us. 

Daniel S. Warnub. 



I AM GLAD. 

I am glad that thou art near me, 
Glad, dear Lord, that thou dost hear me. 

Thou dost hear me when I pray. 
When my heart is sad and weary 
And the road seems rough and dreary, 

Then thy love thou dost display. 

I am glad thou art beside me; 
For I know whate'er betide me. 

Thou my helper e'er wilt be: 
Though by friends on earth forsaken 
Yet I'll rest in thee unshaken 

Till thy loving face I see. 

I am glad that thou dost love me. 
That thy loving eyes above me 

Guard my footsteps night and day. 
By thy grace I'll follow ever; 
I will turn aside no never. 

Never from the narrow way. 

I am glad thou dost supply me. 
No good thing dost thou deny me 

While I lean on thee for aid; 
Yea, thy riches no man knoweth. 



432 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Thy great storehouse o'erfloweth, 
And my Lord the price has paid. 

Lord, thy way hath satisfied me, 
And no matter what betide me. 



To thy precious cross I'll cling: 
Though a battle may be waging, 
Though the powers of hell be raging, 

Yet thy praises I will sing. 

MaKY J. llELPHINGSTINfi. 



EXHORTATION 



CHKISTIAN CONFLICT. 

How goes the fight with thee? 
The lifelong battle with all evil things? 
Thine no low strife, and thine no selfish 
aim; 
It is the war of giants and of kings. 

Look to thine armor well! 
Thine the one panoply no blow that feart: 
Ours is the day of rusted swords and shields, 
Of loosened helmets and of broken spears. 

Heed not the throng of foes! 
To fight 'gainst hosts is still the church's 
lot; 
Side thou with God, and thou must win the 
day. 
Woe to the man 'gainst whom hell fight- 
etli not! 

Say not the fight is long; 
'Tis but one battle, and the fight is o'er; 
No second warfare mars thy victory. 
And the one triumph is forevermore. 

HORATIUa BONAH. 



"how are the mighty fallen!' 

^lien Israel's host desired a king, 

Each eye was turned to Saul, 
A goodly and a clioice young man, 

Most valiant of them all; 
But Saul declined at first to take 

This honorable place, 
Because his father's house was small — 

The least of Israel's race. 

But God had chosen him as king. 

The seat of Israel's pride. 
"Is Saul among the prophets, too?" 

Thus all the people cried. 
"God save the kin.g! God save the king!' 

But, humbled by the sound. 
Poor Saul had hid among the stuff. 

And there their king they found. 

The hand of God was with him when 

He forth to battle went; 
Back to their homes discomfited 

His stron,gest foes he sent. 
"Lo, Saul hath slain a thousand men!" 

Thus did the people sing. 
When he returned with sword and spear: 

"God save our worthy king!" 

But when the Lord was with him, Saul 
Forgot his low estate; 



He took the glory to himself. 

To make liis honor great. 
Thus, while his heart was lifted high. 

By men's applauses fed, 
A message came from God above. 

And thus to him it said: 

"Go thou, destroy the Amalekites, 

And let not one survive: 
Of man or woman, ox or sheep. 

Save not a one alive." 
But lo, when Saul returned again. 

Before him he did bring 
The best of sheep and oxen, and 

Agag, the heathen king. 

Although he tried to hide his sin. 

He could not — from the Lord, 
And He rejected him for not 

Obeying all his word. 
O Saul! the bleating of those sheep. 

The lowing of stolen herd, 
Have sounded in Jehovah's ear; 

His anger great is stirred. 

No more shalt thou his blessings share. 

Nor feel his mighty power: 
The kingdom he from thee hath rent 

In this, thy fateful hour. 
Then Saul, poor Saul was left alone. 

Without the help of God; 
His enemies surrounded him 

And sore upon him trod. 

And when he cried unto the Lord, 

No answer could he hear. 
At last he said, "I'll quickly seek 

The witch of Endor near.'' 
Oh, what a strait poor Saul was in! 

What cowardice displayed! 
Lest he should fall before his foes. 

His heart was sore afraid. 

And when he heard his awful fate — 

That he, when came the day. 
Should fall before tlie deadly foe — 

He fainted in dismay. 
And ere another sun had set. 

Amidst the battle's din 
King Saul, the pride of Israel's host, 

Was numbered with the slain. 

O Saul! thou monarch set on high! 

Thou seat of Israel's pride! 
Thy shield is vilely cast away 

Upon Gilboa's side! 
Ye daughters now of Israel weep; 

Ye heavens, stay your hand; 
Let not your dews upon the fields 

Nor rain upon the land. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Exhortation. 



433 



For lo! the mighty fallen are 

Upon the places high. 
And Israels beauty lieth slain 

Beneath Gilboa's sky. 
Oh! tell it not on Gath, nor in 

Ashkelon speak of Saul, 
Lest all their hosts uncircumcised 

Rejoice in Israel's fall. 

And now to us this warning- comes, 

In solemn, awful tone, 
Resounding- through the ages past. 

From God upon his throne: 
"Be not exalted in the eyes 
* Of thine own self today. 
But walk in meekness with thy God 

And all his word obey. 

"Keep little, lest the fate of Saul 

Should be thine own at last; 
Lest in the battle thou shouldst fall 

Before the day is past: 
Lest, trusting in thine own weak arm. 

Exalted 'bove thy God, 
His hand and power from thee depart 

And turn the chastening rod." 

Clara M. Bbooks. 



FAITHFUL PROMISES. 

Isa. 41 : 10. 

New-Tf*ar"s Hyma. 

Standing at the portal 
Of the opening year, 
-Words of comfort meet us. 

Hushing every fear: . 
Spoken through the silence 

By our Father's voice. 
Tender, strong, and faithful, 
Making us rejoice- 
Onward then, and fear not. 

Children of the day! 
For his word shall never, 
Never pass away. ■ 

"I, the Lord, am witli thee; 

Be thou not afraid. 
I will help and strengthen; 

Be thou no I dismayed. 
Tea, I will uphold thee 

'V\'ith my own right hand; 
Thou art called and chosen 

In nxy sight to stand." 

Onward then, and fear not. 
Children of the day! 

For his word shall never. 
Never pass away. 

For the year before us. 

Oh, what rich supplies! 
For the poor and needy 

Living streams shall rise; 
For the sad and sinful 

Shall his grace abound: 
For the faint and feeble 

Perfect strength be found. 



Onward then, and fear not. 
Children of the day! 

For his word shall never, 
Never pass away. 



He ■will never fail us; 

He will not forsake; 
His eternal covenant 

He will never break. 
Resting on his promise, 

-Rliat have we to fear? 
God is all-sufficient 

For the coming year. 



Onward then, and fear not, 
Children of the day! 

For his word shall never. 
Never pass away. 

Fbances Ridley HArEEOAL. 



FOOTMEN AND HORSES. 

Jet. 12: 5. 

You weary, you say, with the routine, 

"With doing your duties small; 
Ton long to be off with tlie warriors. 

To go at the battle's call. 
■Tis w^ell that you wish to be useful. 

But consider this, my friend: 
You weary while running with footmen; 

Could you with the horses contend? 

The Master, I know, calls for warriors 

To stand at the battle's front: 
But have you the strength, my dear brother. 

To stand its fiercest brunt? 
The Master has great need of soldiers. 

But a soldier must be true. 
And how could you run with the horses, 

■mien footmen have wearied you? 

The Master, allotting each portion, 

To you the sheltered place: 
Tour battles are few and unnoticed. 

Seemingly out of the race: 
You chafe for the din of the battle, 

Forgetting how true ones are tried. 
Tou faint when your feet touch the waters. 

Could you stem the .Jordan's tide? 

Your murmurings show you your weakness. 

Tour need of God's strengthening grace. 
The footman who weakens or wavers. 

Is soon left out of the race. 
Tou may have tlie strength of the warrior 

For tlie duties of every day. 
And ride on the breast of the Jordan, 

If only you fight by the way. 

Sigh not for the swift-running horses, 

■Wlien footmen have left you behind. 
If you shrink from the still, shallow -water. 

Small strength for the Jordan you'll find 
Gird on the whole armor, be sober. 

Trust Jesus alone for your grace: 
Let him hear no more of your sighings. 

Be content with the humblest place. 

Mabei^ Ashenfelteb. 



434 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



WILL JESUS FIND US WATCHING? 

Wlien Jesus comes to reward his servants, 

Whether it be noon or niglit. 
Faithful to him will he find us watching. 

With our lamps all trimmed and bright? 

If at the dawn of the early morning 

He shall call us one by one, 
When to the Lord we restore our talents. 

Will he answer thee, "Well done"? 

Have we been true to the trust he left us? 

Do we seek to do our best? 
If in our liearts there is naught condemns 
us, 

We shall have a glorious rest. 

Blessed are those whom tlie Lord finds 
watching; 

In his glory tliey shall share. 
If he shall come at the dawn or midniglit. 

Will lie find us watching there? 

Oh, can we say we are ready, brother — 

Ready for the soul's bright home? 
Say, will lie find you and me still watching, 
Waiting- — waiting when the Lord sliall 
come? 

FANNia J. Cro.sby. 



WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO STOP? 

T\nier6 are you going to stop, brother? 

And where will you register last. 
When the brakes are down and the lights 
are out 

And life's last mile-stone is past? 
Will your name be written in letters of 
gold. 

With those who in white robes stand? 
Or, will it appear'in the list of those 

T\nio have built their house on the sand? 

Where are you going to stop, brother? 

And what is the goal you seek? 
Do you find yourself nearer the pearly gates 

At the close of each day and week? 
Are you traveling daily the King's hiyii- 
way? 

Do you quench your tliirst at the fount 
Of the Savior's love that was opened for 
all 

Long ago on Calvary's mount? 

■Where are you going to stop, brother? 

Are you certain your ticket is right? 
Be sure it is marked to the city of gold, 

Where cometli no death nor no night. 
Does each sun at its setting find you farther 
along 

In the straight and narrow way? 
Are you nearer the holy city each night 

By the journey of one more day? 

Where are you going to stop, brofher? 

'Tis a riuestion of moment to all. 
To what port are you steering and wlierp 
will you be 



When the shades of life's evening fall? 
Oh! where are you going to stop, my 
brother? 
Pause a, moment before it's too late 
And see if your passport will carry you 
through 
Where loved ones your coming await. 



CALVARY. 

Sinners, turn to Calvary's mouLtain: 

See the purple flowing tide; 
View the never-failing fountain 

Opened in Imraanuels side; 
See him hanging, bleeding, weeping — 

For your sins he bleeds, he dies! 
Ah! you careless still are sleeping! 

Wake by his expiring cries! 

Trembling sinners, burdened, sighing. 

Cast your weight beneath the cross! 
If your sins are with him dying. 

And all gain you count but loss; 
Join your penitential wailing. 

With the Savior's deeper groan; 
His compassion never failing. 

Loudly speaks in that last moan. 

Christian, turn to Calvary's mountain; 

Take your cares and leave them tliere; 
While you wash in that blessed fountain. 

You shall be divinely fair. 
Tempted soul, or pierced with sorrow. 

Lay your griefs within his heart; 
Peace and ease your pain shall follow, 

Precious balm his wounds impart. 

MSS. D. jAQrES. 



COMING. 

It may be in the evening. 

When the work of the day is done. 

And you have time to sit in the twilight 

And to watch the sinking sun; 

WJiile the long bright day dies slowly 

Over tile sea, 
And the hour grows quiet and holy 

With thoughts of Me; 
WHiile you hear the village children 

Passing along the street. 
Among these thronging footsteps 
May come the sound of My feet: 

Therefore I tell you, watch! 
By the light of the evening star, 
When the room is growing dusky 

As the clouds afar; 
Let the door he on the latch 

In your home. 
For it may be through the gloaming 

I will come. 

It may be in the midnight 
Wlien 'tis heavy upon the land. 
And the black waves lying dumbly 
Along the sand; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Exhortation. 



435 



When the moonless night draws close, 
And tlie lights are out in the house; 
When the fires burn low and red. 
And the watch is ticking loudly 

Beside the bed: 
Though you sleep tired on your couch, 
Still your heart must wake and watch 

In the dark room; 
For it may be that at midnight 

I will come. 

It may be at tlie cock-crow, 
When the night is dying slowly 

In the sky. 
And the sea looks calm and iioly. 
Waiting for the dawn of tlie golden sun 

Wliich draweth nigh; 
Wlien the mists are on the valleys shading 

The river's chill, 
And the morning star is fading, fading 

Over the hill: 
Behold, I say unto you, Watch! 
Let the door be on the latch 

In your home: 
In the chill before the dawning, 
Between the night and morning, 
I may come. 

It may be in the morning 

When the sun is bright and strong. 

And the dew is glittering sharply 

Over tlie little lawn; 
When the waves are laughing loudly 

Along the shore. 
And the little birds are singing sweetly 

About the door: 
With the long day's work before you, 

Tou are up with the sun. 
And the neighbors come to talk a little 

Of all that must be done; 
But remember that I may be the next 

To come in at the door, 
To call you from your busy work, 

Forevermore. 
As you work, your heart must watch; 
Let the door be on the latch 

In your room, 
And it may be in the morning 

I will come. 



So I am watching quietly 

Every day. 
Whenever the sun shines brightly, 

I rise and say, 
"Surely it is the shining of His face," 
And look unto the gate of His high place 

Beyond the sea, 
For I know He is coming shortly 

To summon me. 
And when a shadow falls across the window 

Of my room 
■VMiere I am working my appointed task, 
I lift my head to watch the door and ask 

If He is come; 
And the Spirit answers softly 

In my home, 
"Only a few more shadows. 

And He will come." 



LEARN TO GIVE. 

Learn to give, and thou shalt bind 
Countless treasures to thy breast; 

Learn to love, and thou shalt find 
Only they who love are blest. 

Learn to give and thou shalt know 
They tlie poorest are who hoard; 

Learn to love, thy love shall flow 
Deeper for the wealth outpoured. " 

Learn to give, and learn to love: 

Only thus thy life can be 
Foretaste of the life above. 

Tinged with immortality. 

Give, for God to thee hath given; 

Love, for he by love is known; 
Child of God and heir of heaven. 

Let thy parentage be known. 



THE ETERNAL YEARS. 

How shalt thou bear the cross that now 

So dread a weight appears? 
Keep quietly to God, and think 

Upon tlie eternal years. 

Austerity is little help. 

Although it somewhat cheers; 

Thine oil of gladness is the thought 
Of the eternal years. 

Set hours and written rule are good. 
Long prayer can lay our fears; 

But it is better calm for thee 
To count the eternal years. 

Full many things are good for souls. 
In proper times and spheres; 

Thy present good is in the thought 
Of the eternal years. 

Thy self-upbraiding is a snare. 
Though meekness it appears; 

More humbling Is it far for thee 
To face the eternal years. 

Brave quiet is the thing for thee. 
Chiding thy scrupulous fears; 

Learn to be real, from the tliought 
Of the eternal years. 

Bear gently, suffer like a child. 

Nor be ashamed of tears; 
Kiss the sweet cross, and in thy heart 

Sing of the eternal years. 

Thy cross is quite enough for thee. 

Though little it appears; 
For there is hid in it the weight 

Of the eternal years. 

Death will have rainbows round it, seen 
Through calm contrition's tears. 

If tranquil Hope but trims her lamp 
At the eternal years. 



436 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



TRUST IN GOD, AND DO THE RIGHT. 

•Courage, brother! do not stumble, 
Though thy path be dark as night; 

There's a star to guide the humble; 
Trust in God and do the right. 

Let the road be rough and dreary, 

And its end far out of sight. 
Foot it bravely! strong or weary. 

Trust in God and do the right. 

Perish policy and cunning! 

Perish all that fears the light! 
Whether losing, whether winning. 

Trust in God and do the right. 

Trust no party, sect, or faction; 

Trust no leaders in the flght; 
But in every word and action, 

Trust in God and do the right. 

Trust no lovely forms of passion — 
Friends may look like angels bright; 

Trust no custom, school, or fashion. 
Trust in God and do the right. 

Simple rule and safest guiding. 
Inward peace and inward might. 

Star upon our path abiding, — 
Trust in God and do the right. 

Some will hate thee, some will love thee, 
Some will flatter, some will slight: 

Cease from man and look above thee: 
Trust in God and do the right. 

NOBMiN M'LIIOD. 



UNDER HIS EYE. 

■VMien you tliink, when you speak, when 

you read, when you write. 
When you sing, when you walk, when you 

seek for delight,— 
To be kept from all wrong when at home or 

abroad, 
Live always as under the eye of the Lord 

Wlienever you read, though the page may 

allure. 
Read nothing of which you are perfectly 

sura 
Consternation at once would be seen in 

your look 
If God should say solemnly, "Show me that 

book." 

WHienever you think, never think what you 

feel 
Tou would blush in the presence of God to 

reveal : 
Whatever you say, in a whisper or clear. 
Say nothing you would not like Jesus to 

hear. 

Whatever you write, though in haste or 

with heed. 
Write nothing you would not like Jesus to 

read; 



Whatever you sing, in the midst of your 

glees, 
Sing nothing that liis listening ear would 

displease. 

Wherever you go, never go where you fear 
Lest tlie great God should ask you, "How 

camest thou here?" 
Turn away from eacli pleasure you'd shrink 

from pursuing 
If God should look down and say, "What 

art thou doing'?" 



HOW READEST THOU? 

It is one thing to read the Bible through. 
Another thing to read to learn and do; 
It is one thing to read it with delight. 
And quite another thing to read it right. 
Some read it with design to learn to read. 
But to the subject pay but little heed; 
Some read it as their duty once a week. 
But no instruction from the Bible seek; 
While others read it with but little care. 
With no regard to how they read, or where. 
Some read it as a history to know 
How people lived tliree thousand years ago; 
Some read to bring themselves into repute 
By showing others how they can dispute; 
WJiile others read because their neiglibors 

do. 
To see how long 'twill take to read it 

through. 
Some read it for the wonders that are 

there — 
How David killed a lion and a bear: 
■WHiile others read it with uncommon care. 
But all to find some contradiction there. 
Some read as though it did not speak to 

them. 
But to the people at Jerusalem; 
One reads it as a book of mysteries. 
And won't believe the very thing he sees: 
One reads with father's specs upon his head. 
And sees the tiling just as his father did; 
Another reads through Campbell or tl^rough 

Scott, 
And thinks it means exactly what they 

thought. 
Some read to wrangle for their creed. 
Hence understand but little what they read; 
For every doctrine in the Book they bend 
To make it suit that all-important end. 
Some people read, as I have often thought. 
To teach the Book instead of being taught; 
And some there are who read it out of 

spite. 
I fear there are but few who read it right. 
So many people in these latter days 
Have read the Bible in so many ways 
That few can tell which system is the best. 
For every party contradicts the rest. 
But read it prayerfully, and you will see. 
Though men do contradict, God's words 

agree : 
For what the early Bible prophets wrote. 
We find that Christ and his apostles quote. 
So, trust no creed that trembles or offends 
At any word the blessed Bible sends. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— lExhortation. 



437 



TRUTH. 

Thou must be true thyself. 

If thou the trutli wouldst teach; 
Thy soul must overflow, if thou 

Another's soul would reach; 
It needs the overflow of heart 

To give the lips full speech. 

Think truly, and thy thoughts 
Shall the world's famine feed; 

Speak truly and each word of thine 
Shall be a fruitful seed; 

Live truly, and thy life shall be 
A great and noble creed. 



LOOK UP. 

Let me behold thy face, dear Nature, 
That 1 may forget my own. — Emerson. 

Look up, not down; thou canst not see 
One step into the dim unknown. 

Look up into thy Savior's face. 
That thou forget thine own. 

Look up! he knows each thorn and stone: 

He pressed the weary way alone. 

Look up, not down, O loved of God! 

His angels watch about thee keep; 
Lest thou Shalt bruise thy stumbling feel. 

They watch and never sleep: 
How tenderly God guardeth theei 
To give thee angel ministry! 

Look up, not down, that thou shall see 
To aid some fallen, fainting one; 

Look up into thy brother's face. 
That thou forget thine own; 

And in thy deed of selfless love 

Thou Shalt thy Savior's leading prove. 
E. Craft Cobeh.v. 



DILIGENCE. 

If you've ever made a garden, 
■With a love to see things grow, 

Tou will own that every morning 
It was hoe, hoe, hoe. 

■VVere you ever in a vineyard 

WTiere the grapes were ripe and thick? 
■WTien you went to fill your basket 

You must pick, pick, pick. 

If you've ever made a garment. 
Here's a fact you also know: 

Tou were not then counting stitches; 
It was sew, sew, sew. 

Did you ever learn a lesson 
Just by taking time to cry? 

Or was this your resolution, 
"I will try, try, try"? 

Did you ever meet temptation 
Like a lion in the way. 



When you knew your only refuge 
Was to pray, pray, pray? 

Jesus is the way to heaven. 

And if you get there, you must 

Trust in his almighty power — 
Ever trust, trust, trust. 

Emma 1. Coston. 



FORGIVENESS. 

Be to thy bitterest foe like the sissoo-tree. which 
perfumes with its odors the as> which brings it leTel 
to the ground. — Persian Proverb, 

Perchance, O man! thy brother's lieart 

Keeps bitter thoughts of thee. 
And treasures up no kindly deed. 

No pleasant memory. 
Forgive him every unjust thought 

His spirit's depths hath moved; 
Forgive him all, and let thy truth 

In acts of love be proved. 

Perchance, for thee thy brother's lip 

Breathes never tenderness. 
Let gentle words from thine be known. 

Whose utterance will bless. 
Their echoes shall, like music tones. 

Encircle round thy life — 
A sunlight in earth's darkened way. 

Calm peace amid its strife. 

Thy broth 's eye may turn away. 

And look not on thy path; 
Its radiance gone, its kindling flash, 

Proclaim tlie tempest's wrath. 
Oh! look not thou upon him thus. 

But let thine eyes' mild light 
Dispel tlie gleam of vengeful ire — 

The darkness of its night 

Uplifted, too, may be his hand, 

To fall with crushing force. 
Oh! fold thine own — in calm resolve 

High manhood's fearless course; 
And seek to do some kindly deed. 

Some happiness to bring 
Around thy brother's life — thy heart's — 

Heaven's prompting offering. 

So shall thy days glide calmly on. 

Each bearing up to heaven 
Some trace of noble duty done. 

Some bitter wrong forgiven; 
And these shall win for thee a rest 

On yonder peaceful shore. 
Where anger's tossing, surging wave 

Shall vex thy soul no more. 

Walk in His steps whose gentle lips 

No erring man reviled — 
A God, who trod in earthly paths. 

So pure and iindeflled; 
And whispered to the rising wave 

Of anger, "Peace, be still!" 
Crowning thy brother's life with good. 

Who wishes thee but ill. 

Fhances B. M. Brotberson. 



438 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ONE LITTLE HOUR. 

One little hour for watching with the Mas- 
ter; 

Eternal years to walk with him in white. 
One little hour to bravely meet disaster; 

Eternal years to reien with liim in light. 

One little hour to suffer scorn and losses; 

Eternal years beyond earth's cruel 
frowns. 
One little hour to carry heavy crosses; 

Eternal years to wear unfading crowns 

One little hour for weary toils and trials; 

Eternal years for calm and peaceful rest. 
One little hour for patient self-denials; 

Eternal years of life where life is blest. 

Then, souls, be brave and watcli until the 
morrow ; 
Awake, arise, your lamps of purpose trim. 
Your Savior speaks across the night of sor- 
row; 
Can ye not watch one little hour with 
him? 



GRATITUDE. 

God's creatures, o'er his vast creation, 
Regardless of their situation. 
Wealthy or of lower station. 
Owe a debt of gratitude. 

Grateful every heart should be 

For this land of liberty; 

Lovely woods with templed hills. 

Leafy grove, and flowery dells. 

O'er our fields of waving grain 

Cometh oft refreshing rain; 

Thus the Giver of all good 

Supplieth with abundant food. 

But the heart in sinful state 

Ever fails to compensate; 

From tlie restless multitude 

Is heard no song of gratitude. 

But the humble child of grace 

Often seeks a quiet place, 

Meekly counts God's blessings o'er — 

If needy, asks his Lord for more. 

Sometimes througli necessity 

Cometh good we fail to see. 

Though the fig-tree blossom not, 

Never think the Lord forgot; 

Trusting, you will yet re.ioice. 

Praising God with cheerful voice. 

Is a loved one taken home? 

Glad to know they've gained a crown. 

Though so grievous 'tis to part, 

From the truly grateful heart 

No rebellious thought or word 

Rises 'gainst the loving Lord, 

But with tears of gratitude 

Own the Father's will is good. 

Ah! would not thy heart be grieved 
Had thy child from thee received 
A gift in answer to its cry — 



Claim tlie sift but pass thee by? 
Lo, thy love lie counteth naught; 
For, with selfish motives fraught. 
Greed, and cold ingratitude, 
Frame an unkind attitude. 

O ye saints, while life prolong. 
Praise the Lord in prayer and song. 
Fainting though thy heart may be, 
A song of praise will strengthen thee. 
When dark clouds are looming near, 
■Wliisper o'er a grateful prayer. 
And while urging this request. 
Bring him homage for the last. 

jENNia Mast. 



TO MYSELF. 

Let nothing make thee sad or fretful 
Or too regretful; 

Be still. 
What God hatli ordered must be right; 
Then find in it thine own delight. 

My will. 

Why shouldst thou fill today with .sorrow 
About tomorrow. 

My heart? 
One watches all with care most true. 
Doubt not that he will give thee too 

Thy part. 

Only be steadfast; never waver 
Nor seek earth's favor. 
But rest. 
Thou knowest what God wills must be 
For all his creatures so for thee, 
The best. 

Paul Fleumins. 



BE READY ALL. 

Shall we stand at his coming, his glorious 
coming. 
When the summer is over and the har- 
vest is past. 
When the sheaves of his choosing he takes 
for his using 
To the glorious kingdom forever to last? 

WTien the archangel's trumpet shall rend 
the broad heavens. 
And the millions wlio slumber immortal 
arise, 
Sliall we stand with the holy, tlie meek, 
and the lowly, 
Who in glory triumphant mount up to 
the skies? 

When the loud lamentation breaks forth 
from creation 
That the day of God's wrath and his fury 
has come. 
Shall we Join that sad chorus while death 
hovers o'er us, 
Or in terror unbounded stand trembling 
and dumb? 



POEMS OF RELIGION^Exhortation. 



439 



When tUe hope of possession will not be 
professiou 
(For the lover of self will his motives 
behold). 
Only they who, obeying, have toiled, striv- 
ing, praying. 
Shall ascend with the saints to the city 
of gold. 



TELL JESUS. 

Tell Jesus when the burden seems too great 

for you to bear; 
Go lay it at the feet of Christ, and know 

that he will care; 
And tell him all the little things that come 

to cloud your way. 
The puzzles and perplexities that trouble 

you today. 

Tell Jesus all there is to tell about your 
daily needs; 

About the dim uncertainties through which 
our pathway leads: 

About the cherished hopes that lie crushed 
lifeless at your feet, 

The golden dreams left unfulfilled, the la- 
bor incomplete. 

If you could know how tenderly he makes 

your cares his own, 
You would not stand apart again and bear 

the pain alone; 
You would not miss the joy and peace of 

walking at his side. 
Of finding tempest changed to calm, and 

sorrow sanctified. 

I tell him all the story now; no other friend 

can be. 
In morning light or evening shade, what 

Jesus is to me; 
His human heart is still the same today as 

yesterday, 
And in his lovG I find my rest, and in his 

strength my stay. 



LIFES POSSIBILITIES. 

Would you know the higher way? 

Be content to learn it. 
There shall shine a purer day 
Through the shadows cold and gray 

For the ones who earn it. 

Truth's great jewel would you wear? 

Deeply it is lying. 
You must dig through earthly care; 
It will shed its ray so fair 

Not for useless sighing. 

Would you fill an honored place? 

Climb until you reach it. 
Much is said of saving grace, 
But the truth has purer face 

Than the ones who preach It. 



Would you read your title clear'.' 

Do no interlining; 
Trace each page as it comes near; 
Leave no blots of doubt or fear 

Where the light is shining. 

Would you join tlie heavenly song? 

Learn the tunes of duty. 
Sound the notes where they belong; 
Discords ever come from wrong. 

Marring all their beauty. 

Would you wear a robe of white? 

Labor, then, to weave it. 
From the warp of purest white 
Fill it with the threads of right. 

And you shall receive it. 

Would you be the blessed of earth 

As you stand the latest? 
Give the truth a grander birth. 
Do the good of highest worth, 

Lo! you are the greatest. 



WATCH THOU IN ALL THINGS. 

Be patient — life is very brief; 

It passes quickly by. 
And if it prove a troubled scene 

Beneath a stormy sky. 
It is but like a shaded night 
That brings a morn of radiance bright. 

Be hopeful — cheerful faith will bring 

A living joy to thee, 
And make thy life a hymn of praise, 

From doubt and murmurs free; 
Whilst, like the sunbeams thou wilt bless. 
And bring to others happiness. 

Be earnest — an immortal soul 

Should be a worker true; 
Employ thy talents for thy God, 

And ever keep in view 
The judgment-scene, the last great day, 
When heaven and earth shall pass away. 

Be holy-^let not sin's dark stain 

Tliy spirit's whiteness dim; 
Keep close to Jesus mid the world. 

And trust alone to him. 
So midst thy business and thy rest 
Thou wilt be comforted and blest. 

Be prayerful — ask, and thou wilt have 

Strength equal to thy day; 
Prayer clasps the hand that guides tke 
world; 

Oh, make it, then, thy stay! 
Ask largely, and thy God will be 
A kingly giver unto thee. 

Be ready — many fall around. 

Our loved ones disappear; 
We know not when our call may come. 

Nor should we wait in fear: 
If ready, we can calmly rest; 
Living or dying, we are blest. 



440 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



REDEEMING THE TIME. 

A minute spent in secret prayer 

Is not a minute lost; 
A moment spent in Idleness 

■^\'ill quickly prove its cost. 

An hour you pass in righteousness 

Is better, yea, by far, 
Than many days in sinfulness. 

No matter how they are. 

A year that's spent in holiness 
Will lasting treasures bring; 

A lifetime of unrighteousness 
Can yield you but a sting. 

Oh, spend the years, and moments too, 

For God, and faithful be! 
Then you shall rise and be with Christ 

To spend eternity. 

G. D, Oldham. 



GOD WANTS YOUR ALL. 

God wants your ransomed powers — be 

strong; 
Taint not if wearisome and long 

The arduous task to you assigned; 
Toil with unswerving earnestness, 

Entirely to his will resigned; 
Your faithful efforts he will bless. 

God wants your fortitude — be brave; 
From every fear his power can save; 

Then, trust him, knowing no reserve 
Save his own will; let it inspire 

Within your heart and there preserve 
His holy interest and desire. 

God wants humility — live low; 

He'll bless you there, and there bestow 

His grace unmeasured, till your life 
Shall blossom as the fragrant rose, 

And cheer the fainting in the strife 
To rise in courage and oppose. 

Have faith unfailing — dare believe. 
Doubt not; your trust shall yet receive. 

Lay hold with Jacob's strong embrace: 
Faith never was denied its prayer, 

But, bringing to your help his grace, 
'Twill raise you far above despair. 

Have courage — dare to stand alone 

For truth and right. Tour God shall own 

Your nobleness, approve your way. 
Renew your strength, your .spirit nerve: 

Before the dying of the day 
You'll win the prize that you deserve. 

Be true — the crown is waiting there, 
Beyond the struggles, toil, and car©. 

The day we'll follow to the west, 
■Where clouds and shadows end for aye, 

■UTiere foes and fears can ne'er molest. 
Where all our tears are wiped away. 

O. F. Linn. 



MAKE THIS A DAY. 

Take therefore do thougbt for the morrow ; for 
the morrow shall take thougbt for the thingE of It- 
self.— Matt. 6; 34. 

Make this a day. There is no gain 

In brooding over days to come. 
The message of today is plain; 

The future's lips are ever dumb. 
The work of yesterday is gone — 

For good or ill, let come wiiat may; 
But now we face another dawn — 

Make this a day. 

Though yesterday we failed to see 

The urging hand and earnest face 
That men call opportunity; 

We failed to know the time or place 
For some great deed, — what need to fret? 

The dawn comes up a silver gray. 
And golden moments must be met — 

Make this a day. 

This day is yours, your work is yours; 

The odds are not who pays your hire: 
Tlie thing accomplished — that endures. 

If it be what the days require. 
He who takes up his daily round 

As one new armored for the fray, 
Tomorrow steps on solid ground. 

Make this a day. 

The day is this, the time is now; 

No better hour was ever here: 
Who waits upon tlie when and how 

Remains forever in the rear. 
Though yesterday were wasted stuff. 

Your feet may still seek out the way; 
Tomorrow is not soon enough — 

Make this a day. 

WILBCH D. NEBBITT. 



YOUR WORK. 

The low turf-grass is not a stately tree 
Nor yet a lovely and all-fragrant rose; 
It yields no nectar to the grateful bee 
Nor fashions for their transit o'er the sea 
The hearts of oak revered by friends and 
foes. 

But think of it as lightly as you will. 
Passing it over in your careless tread. 

It has its own peculiar place to fill; 

And humble as its work appeareth, still 
Nor oak, nor rose, could do that work in- 
stead. 

So, fellow Christian, through life's tran- 
sient day 
There is a special work marked out for 
you: 
It may be of the lowliest kind: it may 
Be such as shall the loftiest powers dis- 
play; 
But none beside yourself your work can 
do. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



441 



Then, bend in meekness at your Savior's 
throne, 
And seek to learn tlie purpose of liis 
grace; 
Ask Hira who has so oft your duty shown. 
To point you out the work that is your 
own. 
And tell you where to find your proper 
place 

"UHiat wilt thou have me do?" With single 
eye 
To your Redeemer's glory, work for him: 
Illumined every moment from on high. 
Strive in each action God to glorify, 

Nor let one thought of self life's ra- 
diance dim. 

Work, work, nor covet an ignoble rest; 
Allow no sloth thy spirit to beguile. 
Those love the Savior most who serve him 

best; 
And he who blesses others, shall be blest 



With the full 
smile. 



sunshine of his Savior's 



"christlike." 

Christlike — Christian, let it be 
Watchword, countersign for thee: 
When thy way is hedged about. 
Christlike leave the world without; 
Seek in secret, strength to stand; 
Then go forth, and hand to hand 
Fight the fight of faith, for he — 
He'll vouchsafe thy victory. 

Christlike when self-love declares 
Self-indulgence has no snares; 
Christlike when thy pride of heart 
Would resent the scorner's smart; 
Christlike when the place of power 
Brings thee to thy trial hour: 
Christlike, aye, our pattern he 
To the death upon the tree. 



ENCOURAGEMENT, COMFORT 



ANSWERED PRAYERS. 

I asked for bread: God gave a stone in- 
stead: 
Yet while I pillowed there my weary 
head. 
The angels made a ladder to my dreams. 
Which upward to celestial mountains led; 
And when I woke beneath the morning's 
beams. 
Around my resting-place fresh manna 
lay, 
And, praising God, I went upon my way, 
For I was fed. 

I asked for strength; for with the noontide 
heat 
I fainted, while the reapers, singing 
sweet. 
■Went forward with the sheaves I could 
not bear 
Then came the Master with his blood- 
stained feet. 
And lifted me with sympathetic care; 

Then on his arms I leaned till all was 
done. 
And I stood with the rest at set of sun. 
My task complete. 

I asked for light; around me closed the 
night. 
Nor guiding star met my bewildered 
sight, 
For storm-clouds gathered in a tempest 
near: 
Tet in the lightning's blazing, roaring 
flight, 
I saw the way before me, straight and 
clear. 
What though his leading pillar was of 
fire. 
And not the sunbeam of my heart's desire? 
My path was bright. 



God answers prayer: sometimes when 
hearts are weak. 
He gives the very gifts believers seek: 
But often faith must learn a deeper rest. 
And trust God's silence when he does not 
speak: 
For he wMiose name is Love will send the 
best. 
Stars may burn out, nor mountain walls 
endure: 
But God is true, his promises are sure, 
To those who seek. 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY. 

Just to let thy Father do 

■WTiat he will; 
Just to know that he is true. 

And be still. 
Just to follow, hour by hour. 

As he leadeth ; 
Just to draw the moment's power 

As it needeth. 
Just to trust him — that is all. 
Then the day will surely be 
Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall; 

Bright and blessed, calm and free. 

Just to leave in his dear band 

Little things. 
All we can not understand; 

All that stings. 
Just to let him take the care 

Sorely pressing. 
Finding all we let him bear 

Changed to blessing. 
This is all, and yet the way 

Marked by him who loves thee best, 
Secret of a happy day. 

Secret of his promised rest. 

Fiances Riolkt HArraiatL. 



442 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



BEYOND. 

The sunset's crown of radiant gold 

And robe of amethyst 
Had paled to twilight gray and cold 

And trembling veils of mist; 
Then, up in the heaven the white moon 
sailed, 

And, gleaming in her nalie, 
Her silvery shimmering garments trailed — 
A shining way, in shadows veiled, 

Across the dusky lake. 

The darkness quenched the sunset hues; 

Day, shrouded, sank in night; 
Yet through the gloom and through the 
dews 

Still trailed that track of light. 
No wind bore upward hymn or prayer, 

No step throbbed on the sod. 
And yet my soul saw opened there — 
Cross lake, o'er mount, through ambient 
air — 

A shining path to God. 

O coward soul, that fears to miss 

The glow from out thy sky. 
That shrinks from sorrow's touch and kiss 

When shades are drawing nigh, — 
Beyond the night's o'ershadowing form 

Light gleams on wave and sod, 
And thou mayst climb — thy robe and crown 
Faded and in the dust laid down — 

That shining way to God. 



WHAT IS THE TIME TO TRUST? 

What is the time to trust? 
Is it when all is calm? 
When waves the victor's palm 

Of joy and praise? 
Nay, but the time to trust 
Is when the waves beat high, 
When storm-clouds fill the sky 
And prayer Is one long cry, 

"Oh, help and save!" 

What is the time to trust? 
Is it when friend is true? 
Is it when comforts woo. 
And all we say and do 

We meet but praise? 
Nay, but the time to trust 
Is when we stand alone, 
And summer birds have flown. 
And every prop is gone, 

All else but God. 

■Wliat Is the time to trust? 
Is it some future day, 
Wlien you have tried your way 
And learned to trust and pray 

By bitter woe? 
Nay, but the time to trust 
Is in this moment's need. 
Poor, broken, bruised reed! 
Poor, troubled soul, make speed 

To trust thy God. 



What is the time to trust? 
Is it when hopes beat high, 
When sunshine gilds the sky. 
And joy and ecstacy 

Fill all the heart? 
Nay, but the time to trust 
Is when our joy is fled. 
When sorrow bows the head, 
And all is cold and dead, 

AH else but trust. 

A. B. SlUFSOM. 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

New mercies, new blessings, new light on 

thy way. 
New courage, new hope, and new strength 

for each day, 
New notes of thanksgiving, new chords of 

delight. 
New praise in the morning, new songs in 

the night. 
New wine in thy chalice, new altars to 

raise. 
New fruits for thy Master, new garments 

of praise. 
New gifts from his treasures, new smiles 

from his face, 
New streams from the fountain of infinite 

grace. 
New stars for thy crown, new tokens of 

love. 
New gleams of the glory that waits thee 

above, 
New light of his countenance, full and un- 
priced, — 
All this be the glory of thy new life in 

Christ. 



SERVICE. 

I asked the Lord to let me do 
Some mighty work for him; 

To fight amidst his battle hosts. 
Then sing the victor's hymn; 

I longeo for ardent love to show, 

But Jesus would not have it so. 

He placed me in a quiet home, 
Whose life was calm and still, 

And gave me little things to do 
My daily round to fill; 

I could not think it good to be 

Just |)ut aside so silently. 

Small duties gathered round my way; 

They seemed of earth alone. 
I, who had longed for conquest bright 

To lay before his throne. 
Had common things to do and bear, 
To watch and strive with daily care. 

So as I thought my prayer unheard, 
1 asked the Lord once more 

That he would give me work for him. 
And open wide the door — 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



443 



Forgetting that my Master knew 
Just what was best for me to do. 

Then quietly the answer came, 
"My child, I hear thy cry. 

Think not that mighty deeds alone 
Will bring the victory: 

The battle has been planned by me; 

Let daily life thy conquests see." 



YOUR CROSS. 

Seek not to drop the cross you wear. 
Or lay it down; for if you do. 
Another shall be built for you 

More difficult and hard to bear. 

The cross is always made to fit 

The back that bears it. Be content; 
Accept the burden which was sent. 

And strive to make the best of it. 

Think not how heavy is your load; 

Think not how rough the road or long; 

Look up and say, "Lord, I am strong, 
And love makes beautiful the road." 

Who toils in faith and knows no fear 
Shall live to find his cross some day 
Supported all along the way 

By angels who are walking near. 

Ella Whebleb Wilcox. 



WHY WEEPEST THOU? 

I am poor and needy ; yet tbe Lord tbinketh upon 
me.— Psa. 40: 17. 

God caretli for thee, weeping one; 

His hand is round thee now; 
For thee Ins best is always done: 

Oh! then, why weepest thou? 

God loves thee well, thou troubled one; 

Heaven wonders at such love: 
He loves thee as he loveth none 

In angel ranks above. 

Throughout the earth his earnest eye 

Hath careful searched to see 
What spot it was beneath the sky 

That best befitted thee. 

Tet thou that chosen, holy place 

Profanest now with tears; 
And when thy soul should sing its praise. 

It weeps its idle fears. 

Oh! wherefore, wherefore dost thou wrong 

His heart who loves thee so? 
And rob him of thy tribute song. 

To nurse thy thankless woe? 

If thou must weep, then weep for joy 

That God thy Father is; 
Wliose grace does all its powers employ 

To load thy soul with bliss. 



Yes, weep o'er that lorgottea jove 
That guards thee every day; 

Not only crowns thy end above, 
But blesses all the way. 



COMMUNION. 

A little talk with Jesus — 

How it smooths the rugged road! 
How it seems to lielp me onward 

When I faint beneath my load! 
When my heart i.s crushed with sorrow 

And mine eyes with tears are dim. 
There's naught can yield me comfort 

Like a little talk with him. 

I tell him I am weary 

And I fain would be at rest; 
That I'm daily, hourly, longing 

For a home upon his breast; 
And he answers me so sweetly. 

In tones of tend'rest love, 
"I am coming soon to take thee 

To my happy home above." 

Ah! this is what I'm wanting — 

His lovely face to see. 
And, I'm not afraid to say it, 

I know he's wanting me! 
He gave his life a ransom 

To make me all his own. 
And he can't forget his promise 

To me, his purchased one. 

I know the way is dreary 

To yonder far-off clime. 
But a little talk with Jesus 

Will wile away the time; 
And yet the more I know him. 

And all his grace explore. 
It only sets me longing 

To know him more and more. 

I can not live without him. 

Nor would I if I could; 
He is my daily portion, 

My medicine and my food. 
He's altogether lovely. 

None can with him compare — 
The chief among ten thousand, 

The fairest of the fair. 

I often feel impatient 

And mourn his long delay; 
I never can be settled 

WTiile he remains away: 
But we shall not long be parted. 

For I know he'll quickly come. 
And we shall dwell together 

In that happy, happy home. 

So I'll wait a little longer. 

Till his appointed time, 
And glory in the knowledge 

That such a hope is mine. 
Then in my Father's dwelling. 

Where "many mansions" be, 
I'll sweetly talk with Jesus, 

And he shall talk with me. 



444 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GOD S LOVE AND WISDOM. 

God never would send you the darkness 
If he thought you could bear the light; 

But you would not cling to his guiding hand 
If tlie way were always bright; 

And you would not care to walk by faith 
Could you always walk by sight. 

'Tis true he has many an anguish 
For your sorrowful heart to bear, 

And many a cruel thorn crown 
For your tired head to wear: 

He knows how few would reach heaven at 
all 
If pain did not guide them there. 

So he sends the blinding darkness 
And the furnace of sevenfold heat: 

'Tis the only way, believe me, 
To keep you close to his feet; 

For it is always so easy to wander 
When your lives are glad and sweet. 

Then nestle your hand in your Father's, 
And sing, if you can, as >"ou go; 

Tour song may cheer some one behind you 
Wliose courage is sinking low. 

And, well, if your lips do quiver — 
God will love you better so. 



CHASTISEMENT. 

Tlie Father loves and chastens all 

And scourgeth every son; 
Not one but needs the rod at times. 

If heaven's crown be won. 
To chasten is the milder means. 

When souls give better heed: 
But scourging is the more severe. 

And serves a deeper need. 

No chast'ning for the present time 

Seems joyous, nay, but sore. 
Tet later yields that righteous fruit 

We hungered for before. 
One may in such an hour be pressed, 

And words like these may fall: 
"But how can I such things deserve 

And be a son at all?" 

Beware, lest while the Father chides. 

The enemy accuse: 
"Resist him," is the Lord's command, 

And he will Satan bruise 
Like Job of old, you can be true, 

WHio said, despite- the foe, 
*'My righteousness I do hold fast: 

I will not let it go." 

Fret not, dear soul, if 'neath the rod 

Your sonship seem bedimmed; 
Cast not away your confidence, 

You'll rue it in the end. 
Correction came by earthly sires. 

And we did reverence give: 
Then shall we not be subject to 

Our spirits' Sire, and live? 



Take heed, lest when the fault's revealed, 

You find yourself too high; 
Defending wrong when light has come 

Is where the dangers lie. 
Let none who sin excuse their deed, 

Nor call it simply "tried": 
The rod for such is not enough; 

The blood must be applied. 

Then, let no murmur escape thy lips, 

Nor seek thy faults to hide; 
But meekly bow thy soul to God 

And take the humble side. 
Your motives through your blunders all 

Our tongues might well exalt, 
But that does not correct the wrong 

Nor justify the fault. 

Then, bow with patience to his will. 

Press closer to his side: 
The stroke will only lighter seem 

If you will there abide. 
But when the wounds are deep enough 

Submissive tears to bring, 
Kind Father will the balm impart 

And cause thy soul to sing. 

Though failures make the remnant blush 

And sorrows crush thy soul, 
Fond mercy smiles and bids thee rise, 

Press onward to the goal. 
'Twere better tliat you keenly feel 

The sting tliat pained God's heart 
Than ligtitly pass the matter by 

And lose that better part. 

Faint not, dear child, at God's rebuke: 

He does it all in love. 
We thus partake of holiness 

And gain tliat home above. 
Shrink not from Father's holy plan 

Nor wish it otherwise; 
The chastening stroke protects thy soul, 

Prepares thee for the skies. 

One comfort "neath the rod is this: 

'Twill not be always so: 
The sunshine and the smiles will come, 

And sorrows all shall go. 
Poor, wounded one, how oft you wish 

You ne'er could make mistakes: 
Though errors of the head alone. 

They bring thee sad heartaches. 

The Holy Spirit never errs. 

But we are only clay. 
If we be true, he'll not depart. 

But pity, chasten, stay. 
Oh! let us seek a closer walk. 

Devoted more to God; 
The child who lives in humble prayer 

Less often needs the rod. 

Then, lift the hands that now hang down, 

Confirm the feeble knees, 
And make straight paths before thy feet 

Lest sin the lame should seize. 
Now, when the lessons all are learned, 

Remember not the pain: 
Arise and shine, forget the pa.«t. 

Press on in ,Iesiis' name 

E. A. Rbabdon. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



445 



HOPE. 

What though the blossom fall and die? 

The flower is not the root; 
The sun of love may ripen yet 

The Master's pleasant fruit. 



Arise! and, leaning on his strength, 
Thy weakness shall be strong; 

And he will teach thy heart at length 
A new perpetual song. 

Arise] to follow in his track 

Eacli holy footprint clear. 
And on an upward course look back 

With every brightening year. 

Arise! and on thy future way 

His blessing with thee be! 
His presence be thy staff and stay 

Till thou his glory see. 

I'KAXCES RiDLET HAVERGAL. 



NOT KNOWING. 

1 know not what shall befall me; 

God hangs a mist o'er my eyes; 
And so, each step in mine onward path. 

He makes new scenes to rise. 
And every joy he sends me comes 

As a strange and sweet surprise. 

I see not a step before me. 
As I tread on another year; 

But the past is still in God's keeping; 
The future his mercy shall clear. 

And what looks dark in the distance 
May brighten as I draw near. 

For perhaps the dreaded future 
Has less bitter than I think; 

The Lord may sweeten the waters 
Before I stoop to drink; 

Or, if Marah must be Marah, 
He will stand beside the brink. 

It may be he has waiting 

For the coming of my feet 
Some gift of such rare blessedness, 

Some joy so strangely sweet. 
That my lips shall only tremble 

With the thanks they can not speak. 

Oh, restful, blissful ignorance! 

'Tis blessed not to know! 
It keeps me so still in those arms 

■\Aniich will not let me go. 
And hushes my soul to rest 

On the bosom that loves me so. 

So I go on, not knowing; 

I would not if I might! 
I'd rather walk in the dark with God 

Than walk alone in the light: 
I'd rather walk with him by faith 

Than walk alone by sight. 



My heart shrinks back from trials 
That the future may disclose, 

Yet I never had a sorrow 

But what the dear Lord chose; 

So I send the coming tears back 

Vnth the whispered words, "He knows. 



god's way is best. 

little maid, with curling hair 

And laughing eyes of heaven's own blue, 

1 sit and wonder when and where 
You'll find the work God plans for you. 

Where will he send your restless feet? 

What give your waiting hands to do? 
What giants grim are you to meet? 

What waters deep must you pass through? 

^'here will you find the roughest road? 

And where the steepest hills to climb? 
And oh! what heavy, crushing load 

Awaits you down the paths of time? 

I wonder, in the coming years 
What heavy crosses wait for you? 

What ghosts of never-buried fears 

Vnu follow you the journey through? 

Oh! how and wliere will you be found 
Amid earth's sorrow, sin, and strife? 

Must you with piercing thorns be crowned' 
And miss the sweetest things of life? 

I tremble for you, child, and long 

To smooth the pathway for your feet; 

From every breath of hate and wrong 
To hide you in some safe retreat. 

Might I but choose for you, I know 

The sweetest things your life sliould fill, 

And as the years should come and go. 
No power should ever work you ill. 

Your ship should sail the ocean wide 
'^''afted by gentle gales along, 

Or safe in sheltered harbors ride 

When rage the tempests fierce and strong. 

And yet, and yet, the tree grows strong. 
Shaken by all the winds that blow; 

Each howling blast that sweeps along 
But makes it firmer-rooted grow. 

Not summer breezes, sunny skies. 
Nor showers of gently falling rain 

Can give of strength such rich supplies 
As howling storms that sweep amain. 

And so it were not well that I 

Should shield you, child, if so I might. 
Your way may through sore troubles lie. 

But He who plans will guide aright. 

Tliough winds and waves in wild unrest 
Threaten your bark, no harm sliall come. 

And he may be most truly blest 
Who has the roughest passage home. 



440 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GODS LOVING CARE. 

"Behold the fowls of the air: 

They sow not, neither do they reap"; 
Yet kings have not more healthful fare, 

Nor rest in calmer, sweeter sleep. 
They have no barns nor hoarded grain, 
Tet all day long a soft, sweet strain 
They warble forth from forest tree. 
Ever happy and ever free. 
Teaching a lesson dear to me. 
So free from care, O sylvan band. 
Fed by a heavenly Father's hand, 
Your freedom, O ye fowls of heaven, 
New courage to my soul hath given. 
I no more can doubt or sorrow; 
God will care for me tomorrow. 

"Behold the lilies, how they grow: 

They toil not, neither do they spin"; 
Tet kings in all their pomp and show 

Are not arrayed like one of them. 
Smiling and free in the breeze's sway. 
Yet clothed by God's own hand are they. 
Meek lilies of the quiet field, 
Your growth to me doth lessons yield. 
The One who clothes the lily fair 
Gives it greatest husbandry care; 
Will he not hear my earnest prayer? 
The One who notes the sparrow's fall — 
Does he not love his creatures all? 
If he so clothes each tuft and tree, 
And gives the birds such liberty. 
Will he not clothe and care for me? 
I no more can doubt or sorrow; 
God will care for each tomorrow. 

Charles E. Orb. 



FACE THIS SAD WORLD WITH A 
SMILE. 

Last night as I lay in sweet slumber. 
The cares of the day in the past, 

A very strange dream soon awoke me; 
Some thoughts on my heart it impressed. 

I dreamed near a marsh I was standing; 

On a post sat a bright little wren; 
On the ground near the post was a puddle. 

And poor little birdie fell in. 

A jay-bird near by began scolding, 

"P-a-y, p-a-y," he said, "what a sad 
world! 
That bird in the mud down there strug 
gling— 
Bear me! it's Just awful," she snarled. 

"Quite good for him, though," said the 
grumbler; 

"What nonsense to go near that place! 
Such folly is reaped in a moment — 

Just think of his feathers and face! 

"Oh, dear! what is life to such beings? 

And what is it worth to us all? 
Sad, sad, to be born in this sorrow" — 

And his anger broke into a squall. 



"If there only were some one with com- 
fort, 

And heart that is noble and good" 

But the saucy young jay made no effort 

To help the poor wren in the mud 

The poor little fellow kept struggling 
Till he loosened himself from his fate. 

Then, washing in clear water near him, 
Flew back to the post clean and straight. 

"Thank God, it is over," he chirruped, 
"Misfortunes will come now and then; 

How happy I am to have trusted 

In Him who will care for a wren! 

"My life has been spared, and I'm wiser, 
To shun all the mud here I can; 

But if a sad mishap befalls me, 
I'll face it and act like a man. 

"I suffered much pain in my struggle; 

My heart almost sank in despair; 
But nothing so filled me with sadness 

As the words of that jay-bird up there. 

"This world is made up of much sorrow; 

Each heart has its share all the while; 
But I've learned not to murmur, but rather 

Face the world with a bright, happy 
smile." 

The wren spoke these words with such ac- 
cent; 
My heart was quite touched with his 
lore; 
"Dear Lord," I said, "help me the lesson 
Much better to know than before." 

I awakened with thought for reflection; 

This world, sure enough, is quite sad; 
There are many whose hearts are despond- 
ent. 

But few who are joyful and glad. 

Misfortunes and anguish are crushing 

The many to dismal despair: 
There are lives indeed not worth the living, 

So cumbered with burdens and care. 

And 'tis true there are many now reaping, 
Their folly in sin's miry sand: 

Shall I like the jay-bird complaining. 
Not give them a kind, helping hand? 

We all may have sorrows depressing 
To face in the life here below: 

Let us take them to Jesus, our helper; 
Not one to the world let us show. 

We all have our trials surrounding; 

Let us comfort each other the while; 
With our hearts clean and pure with sal- 
vation. 

Let us face this sad world with a smile — 

Such a smile of true love and compassion, 

Which to us by God's grace has been 

given, 

As will lighten each sad heart in sorrow, 

W^ith the comfort and sunshine of heaven. 

J. W. BYESa. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— .Encouragement, Comfort. 



447 



ALL IN ALL TO ME. 

■mio Is my life but Christ alone? 

I seek no joy beside; 
His love and peace flow In my soul. 

An everlasting tide. 

What Is my hope but Christ In me. 
The hope of glory bright? 

No one but Jesus set me free; 
He only is my light. 

WJio is the church but Christ alone? 

No other fold I need. 
I live in him, the living vine. 

His Word my only creed. 

Who but my Savior died for me? 

He only did atone 
For all my sins upon the tree; 

He drank the cup xlone. 

Who purchased me when lost in sin? 

Christ, thy love I own! 

O Lamb of God, my all is thine, 

1 am no more my own! 

Daniel S. Wabneb. 



CONSOLATION IN SICKNESS. 

When languor and disease Invade 
This trembling house of clay, 

'Tis sweet to look beyond our cage. 
And long to fly away; 

Sweet to look inward and attend 
The whispers of His love; 

Sweet to look upward to the place 
Where Jesus pleads above; 

Sweet to look back and see my name 
In life's fair book set down; 

Sweet to look forward and behold 
Eternal joys my own; 

Sweet to reflect how grrace divine 

My sins on Jesus laid; 
Sweet to remember that his blood 

My debt of sufferings paid; 

Sweet on his righteousness to stand. 
Which saves from second death; 

Sweet to experience, day by day. 
His spirit's quickening breath; 

Sweet on his faithfulness to rest. 
Whose love can never end; 

Sweet on his covenant of grace 
For all things to depend; 

Sweet in the confidence Of faith 
To trust his Arm decrees; 

Sweet to lie passive in his hand. 
And know no will but his; 

Sweet to rejoice In lively hope. 

That, when my change shall come, 

Angels will hover round my bed 
And waft my spirit home. 



There shall I see him in that flesh 

On which my guilt was lain; 
His love intense, his merit fresh, 

As thougli but newly slain. 

Soon, too, my slumbering dust shall hear 
The trumpet's quickening sound; 

And, by my Savior's power rebuilt. 
At his right hand be found. 

These eyes shall see him in that day. 

The God that died for me! 
And all my rising bones shall say, 

"Lord, who is like to thee?" 

If such the views which grace unfolds. 

Weak as it is below, ^ 

What raptures must the church above 

In Jesus' presence know! 

If such the sweetness of the stream, 

WJiat must the fountain be. 
Where saints and angels draw their bliss 

Immediately from thee! 

Oh, may the unction of tliese truths 

Forever with me stay, 
Till, from this earthly cage dismissed, 

My spirit flies away! 

A. M. TOPLADI 



A YEAR UNTRIED. 

.\ year untried before me lies; 

What shall it bring of strange surprise? 

Or joy, or grief, I can not tell; 

But God, my Father, knoweth well. 

[ make it no concern of mine, 

But leave it all with Love Divine. 

Be sickness mine, or rugged health; 
Come penury to me, or wealth; 
Though lonesome I must pass along, 
Or loving friends my way may throng,— 
Upon my Father's Word I rest; 
Whatever shall be shall be best. 

No 111 can come but he can cure; 

His Word doth all of good insure: 

He'll see me through the journey's length. 

For daily need give daily strengtli. 

'Tis thus I fortify my heart. 

And thus do fear and dread depart. 

The sun may shed no light by day. 
Nor stars at night Illume my way; 
My soul shall still know no affright. 
Since God is all my life and light. 
Though all the earthly lamps grow dim. 
He walks in light who walks with him. 

O year untried! — thou hast for me 
Naught but my Father's eye can see: 
Nor canst thou bring me loss or gain. 
Or health or sickness, ease or pain, 
But welcome messenger shall prove 
From Him whose name to me Is Love. 

B. U. OiToiow 



448 



TREASURES OF POETRY 



THE UNCHANGING WORD. 

When the earth shall cease to be 

And the heavens pass away, 
The unchanging word of God we'll see 

Just as it is today. 

Since the morn when time began, 
Hath his word ceased to prevail? 

Is the God of heaven weak as man? 
Or can his promise fail? 

Hath a mortal yet been found 
Who hath trusted him in vain? 

Search the whole broad space of earth 
around. 
And search it once again. 

Trusting him, I'm not afraid, 

For he careth still for me; 
And for me the promise sure was made 

And sealed on Calvary. 

Oh, what peace and calm content! 

Oh, what love and joy divine, 
While I trust thy changeless word, are 
blent 

WUthin this heart of mine! 

C. W. NiTLOB. 



THE SOLITARY WAY. 

Psa. 107: 1-9., 

There is a mystery in human hearts. 
And though we be encircled by a host 
Of those who love us well, and are beloved, 
To every one of us, from time to time. 
There comes a sense of utter loneliness. 
Our dearest friend is "stranger" to our pain. 
And can not realize our bitterness. 
"There is not one who really understands. 
Not one to enter into all I feel!" 
Such is the cry of each of us in turn. 
We wander in "a solitary way," 
No matter what or where our lot may be; 
Each heart, mysterious even to itself. 
Must live its inner life in solitude. 

And would you know the reason why this 

is? 
It is because the Lord desires our love; 
In every heart he wishes to be first. 
He therefore keeps the secret-key himself. 
To open all its chambers, and to bless. 
With perfect sympathy and holy peace, 
Each solitary soul that comes to him. 
So when we feel this loneliness, it is 
The voice of Jesus saying, "Come to me!" 
And every time we are "not understood," 
It is another call to us to come; 
For Christ alone can satisfy the soul. 
And those who walk with him from day to 

day 
Can never have "a solitary way." 

Then, if beneath some great trial you 
faint. 
And say, "I can not bear this load alone," 
Tou say the truth. Christ made it pur- 
posely 



So heavy you must leave it to him. 

The bitter grief which "no one under- 
stands " 

Conveys a secret message from the Lord, 

Entreating you to come to him with it. 

The Man of Sorrows understands it well; 

In all points tempted, he can feel with you: 

Tou can not come too often or too near. 

The Son of God is infinite in grace; 

His presence satisfies the longing soul; 

And those who walk with liim from day to 
day 

Can never have "a solitary way." 



WHEN THY WAY SEEMS DARKEST. 

Christian, when thy way seems darkest 

And thine eyes with tears are dim. 
Straight to God thy Father hastening. 

Tell thy sorrows unto him. 
Not to human ear confiding 

Thy sad tale of grief or care. 
But before thy Father kneeling. 

Pour out all thy sorrows there. 

Sympathy of friends may cheer thee 

When the fierce, wild storm is past. 
But God only can console thee 

In the wild terrific blast. 
Go with words or tears or silence. 

Only lay them at his feet; 
Thou Shalt prove how great his pity, 

And his tenderness how sweet. 

Think, too, thy divine Redeemer 

Knew as thou canst never know 
All deepest depths of suffering. 

All the weight of human woe; 
And though now in glory seated, 

He can hear thy feeblest cry — 
Even hear the stifled sighing 

Of thy heart's dumb agony. 

All thy griefs by him permitted. 

Needful is each one for thee; 
All thy tears by him are counted — 

One too much there can not be; 
And if whilst they fall so quickly 

Thou canst own his way is right. 
Then each bitter tear of anguish 

Precious is in Jesus' sight. 

Far too well thy Savior loves thee 

To allow thy life to be 
One long, calm, unbroken summer. 

One unruflled, stormless sea: 
He would have thee fondly nestle 

Closer to his loving breast; 
He would have that world seem brighter 

Where alone is perfect rest. 

Though his wise and loving purpose 

Clearly now thou mayst not see. 
Still believe, with faith unshaken, 

All shall work for good to thee: 
Therefore when thy way seems darkest 

And thine eyes with tears are dim, 
Straight to God thy Father hastening. 

Tell thy sorrows unto him. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



449 



WHO TRUSTS IN GOD S UNCHANG- 
ING LOVE. 

Leave God to order all thy ways, 
And hope in him whate'er betide; 

Thou'It find him in the evil days 
Thy all-sufficient strength and guide. 

W'ho trusts in God's unchanging love, 

Builds on the Rock that can not move. 

He knows when joyful hours are best; 

He sends them as lie sees it meet: 
When thou hast borne the fiery test, 

And art made free from all deceit, 
He comes to thee all unaware, 
And makes thee feel his loving care. 

Sing, pray, and swerve not from his ways. 
But do thine own part faithfully; 

Trust his rich promises of grace. 
So shall they be fulfilled in thee. 

God never yet forsook in need 

The soul that trusted him indeed. 

Only thy restless heart keep still. 
And wait in cheerful hope content 

To take whate'er his gracious will. 
His all-discerning love, hath sent; 

Nor doubt our inmost wants are known 

To him who chose us for his own. 



ONE STEP MORE, 

■V.'hat tliough before mo it is dark. 

Too dark for o'lo to see 
I ask but light for one step more; 

'Tis quite enough for me. 

Each little hjinble strp I take. 
The gloom clears from the next; 

So, though 'tis very dark beyond, 
I never am perplexed. 

And if s.)nietimes the mist hnngs close. 

So close I fear to stray. 
Patient I wait a little while. 

And soon it clears away. 

I would not see my further path, 

For mercy veils it so; 
My present steps might harder be 

Did I the future know. 

It may be that my path is rough, 

Thorny and hard and sleep; 
And, knowing this, my str.;ngth might fail, 

Through fear and terror deep. 

It may be that it winds along 

A smooth and fiowery way: 
But, seeing this, I might despise, 

The journey of today. 

Perhaps my path is very short, 

My journey nearly done, 
And I might tremble at the thought 

Of ending it so soon. 



Or, if I saw a weary length 

Of road that I must wend, 
Fainting, I'd think, "My feeble powers 

Will fail me ere the end." 

And so I do not wish to see 

My journey or its length, 
Assured that, through my Father's love. 

Each step will bring its strength. 

Thus step by step I onward go, 

Not looking far before. 
Trusting that I shall always have 

Light for just "one step more." 



HEAVIER THE CROSS. 

[Translation from the German.] 

Heavier the cross, the nearer heaven; 

No cross without no God within: 
Death, judgment, from the heart are driven 

Amid the world's false glare and din. 
Oh, happy he, with all his loss. 
Whom God hath set beneath the cross! 

Heavier the cross, the better Christian; 

This is the touchstone God applies. 
How many a garden would he wasting, 

Unwet by showers from weeping eyes! 
The gold by fire is purified; 
The Christian is by trouble tried. 

Heavier the cross, the stronger faith; 

The loaded palm strikes deeper root; 
The wine-Juice sweetly issueth 

\\1ien men have pressed the clustered 
fruit; 
And courage grows where dangers come. 
Like pearls beneath the salt sea-foam. 

Heavier the cross, the heartier prayer; 

The bruised herbs most fragrant are. 
If sky and wind were always fair. 

The sailor would not watch the star; 
And David's Psalms had ne'er been sung 
If grief his heart had never wrung. 

Heavier the cross, the more aspiring: 
From vales we climb to mountain crest; 

The pilgrim, of the desert tiring. 
Longs for the Canaan of his rest; 

The dove has here no rest in sight. 

And to the ark she wings her flight. 

Heavier the cross, the easier dying. 
Death is a friendlier face to see; 

To life's decay one bids defying. 

From life's distress one then is free. 

The cross sublimely lifts our faith 

To him who triumphed over death. 

Thou Crucified! the cross I carry — 
The longer may it dearer be; 

And lest I faint while here I tarry. 
Implant thou such a heart in me 

That faith, hope, love, may flourish there. 

Till for the cross my crown I wear. 

SCHMOLKE. 



450 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 

A free paraphrase of the German 

To weary hearts, to mourning homes, 
God's meekest angel gently comes: 
No power has he to banish pain 
Or give us baclc our lost again; 
And yet in tenderest love, our dear 
And heavenly Father sends him here. 

There's quiet in that angel's glance; 

There's rest in his still countenance. 

He mocks no grief with idle cheer, 

Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear, 

But ills and woes he may not cure 

He kindly trains us to endure. 

Angel of patience! sent to calm 
Our feverish brows with cooling palm; 
To lay the storms of hope and fear. 
And reconcile life's smile and tear; 
The throbs of wounded pride to still, 
And make our own our Father's will! 

O thou who mournest on thy way. 
With longings for the close of day, 
He walks with thee, that angel kind. 
And gently whispers, "Be resigned: 
Bear up. bear on: the end shall tell 
The dear Lord ordereth all things well." 
John Grbenleap Whittier. 



THOUGHTS FOR THE NEW YEAR. 

The morn has dawned both calm and clear 
Upon another happy year, 

And from glad hearts 

Our welcome starts. 

No echoes of the past we bring. 
For of the future we would sing, 
In accents clear. 
This bright New-year. 

Upon the thought we all will dwell 
That by God's grace we can do well 

This whole year through. 

And others too. 

No efforts made will be in vain. 
But will instead be heavenly gain; 

And blessings rare 

Will be our share. 

Full well we know the precious shower. 
That bathes the grass and leafy bower. 

Of fog and mist 

Doth quite consist. 

Yet meadow green appears once more; 
The bower's fragrant as of yore; 

The mist is gone. 

And no harm's done. 

So trials come, our souls to prove; 
They bathe with heavenly grace and love. 

The mist is good; 

'Tis real soul-food. 



Though trials come this whole year through. 
As soldiers, may we all be true. 

We can prevail 

Midst sleet and hail. 

And In the lullings of the storm, 
Neath heaven's blessings rich and warm, 
We'll find we grew 
While storm winds blew. 

O'er records dark we'll not repine. 
But comfort read in every line. 

And close with cheer 

This happy year. 

Isabel C. Btkum. 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 

Light! emblem of all good and joy! 

Shade! emblem of all ill! 
And yet in this strange mingled life. 

We need the shadow still 
A lamp with softly shaded light. 
To soothe and spare the tender sight, 
Will only throw 
A brighter glow 
LTpon our books and work below. 

We could not bear unchanging day. 

However fair its light; 
Rrelong the wearied eye would hail 
.\s boon untold the evening pale. 

The solace of the night. 
And wlio would prize our summer glow 
If winter gloom we did not know? 
Or rightly praise 
The glad spring rays 
Who never saw our rainy days? 

How grateful in Arabian plain 
Of white and sparkling sand 
The shadow of a mighty rock 

Across the weary land! 
And where the tropic glories rise, 
Responsive to the fiery skies, 
We could not dare 
To meet the glare. 
Or blindness were our bitter share. 

Where Is the soul so meek and pure . 

Who through his earthly days 
Life's fullest sunshine could endure 

In clear and cloudless blaze! 
The sympathetic eye would dim. 
And others pine unmarked by him. 
Were no chill shade 
Around him laid, 
.\nd light of joy could never fade. 

He who the light-commanding word 
Erst spake and formed the eye 
Knows what that wondrous eye can bear. 
And tempers with providing care, 
By cloud and night, all hurtful glare. 

By shadows ever nigh. 
So in all-wise and loving ways 
He blends the shadows of our daya. 
To win our sight 
From scenes of night. 
To seek the true and only light. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



451 



We need some shadow o'er our bliss, 

Lest we forget the Giver; 
So, often in our deepest joy 

There comes a solemn quiver; 
We could not tell from whence it came, 
Tha subtle cause we can not name; 
Its twilight fall 
May well recall 
Calm thought of Him who gave us all. 

There are who all undazzled tread 

A while the sunniest plain; 
But they have sought the blessed shade 
By one great Rock of Ages made. 

A sure, safe rest to gain. 
Unshaded light of earth soon blinds 
To light of heaven sincerest minds: 
Oh, envy not 
A cloudless lot! 
We ask indeed we know not what. 

So is It here, so is it now! 
Not always will it be! 
There is a land that needs no shade: 
A morn will rise which can not fade; 
And we, like flame-robed angels made. 

That glory soon may see. 
No cloud upon its radiant joy. 
No shadow o'er its bright employ. 

No sleep, no night, 

But perfect sight. 
The Lord our everlasting light. 

FHANCK3 RiDLET HAVERGAL. 



WHO SHALL ROLL AWAY THE 
STONE? 

What poor weeping ones were saying 

Eighteen hundred years ago. 
We. the same weak faith betraying. 

Say in our sad hours of woe; 
Looking at some trouble lying 

In tlie dark and dread unknown, 
We too often ask with sighing, 

"Who shall roll away the stone?" 

Thus with care our spirits crushing, 

^nien they might from care be free 
And, in joyous song outgushing. 

Rise, with rapture, Lord, to thee; 
For before the way was ended. 

Oft we've had with joy to own 
Angels have from heaven descended. 

And have rolled away the stone. 

Many a storm-cloud sweeping o'er us. 

Never pours on us its rain; 
Many a grief we see before us. 

Never comes to cause us pain; 
Ofttimes in tlie feared tomorrow 

Sunshine comes — the cloud has flown- 
Ask not, tlien, in foolish sorrow, 

"W^lo shall roll away the stone?" 

Burden not thy soul with sadness; 

Make a wiser, better choice; 
Drink the wine of life with gladness — 

God doth bid thee, man, rejoice. 



In today's bright sunshine basking. 
Leave tomorrow's fears alone; 

Spoil not present joys by asking, 
"Who shall roll away the stone?" 



'come ye apart 



t* 



"Come ye apart and rest a while," in gentle 

tone and sweet. 
The Master his disciples did most tenderly 

entreat; 
i'or, wearied with the pressing throng, 

which came from day to day 
Tliey found no time for rest; so Jesus calls 

them now away. 

-Away from toil, away from care, to be with 
him alone — 

With him from whom their strength must 
come — his chosen and his own. 

Ai>art from all the multitude — oh, privi- 
lege sublime! 

Tc. dwell within his presence sweet, he calls 
at evening time. 

"Come ye apart, O burdened one, from all 

thy toll, and rest; 
c.me unto me and find repose while leaning 

on my breast. 
-\:)art from turmoil and from strife, which 

fill tlie hours of day, 
I' lion me roll thy heavy load; I'll bear it 

all away." 

O toll-worn mother, do thy cares oppress 

thee all day through? 
.And does it seem that calm repose was 

never meant for you? 
"Come ye apart," the Master saith; thy 

burdens light will grow. 
He longs to have them cast on him, that 

thou his love mayst know. 

O troubled one whose fondest hopes lie 
shattered at thy feet. 

Whose head is bowed in sorrow, there's a 
calm and safe retreat, 

-A balm to heal thy heartache in his invita- 
tion blest, 

"Come ye apart, O troubled one — apart with 
me and rest." 

He who accepts this offer kind, who low 

before him lives. 
Alone can know the comfort and the 

strength his Spirit gives. 
The battle is not half so hard if, ere It has 

begun. 
You steal away and spend a while apart 

with him alone. 

"Come ye apart," still tenderly he pleads 

for one and all, 
Wliere nothing but his loving tones upon 

thy soul may fall: 
Earth's sin-sick, weary, worn, or tried, its 

troubled or distressed. 
The Master gently speaks to you, "Come ye 

apart and rest." 



452 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



LEAN HARD. 

Child of my love, lean hard, 

And let me feel the pressure of thy care. 

I know thy burden, child — I shaped it. 

Poised it in my own hand, made no propor- 
tion 

In its weight to thine unaided strength. 

Before ever I laid it on I said, 

"I shall be ever near, and wliile she leans 
on me 

This burden shall be mine, not hers. 

So shall I keep my child within the cir- 
cling arms 

Of mine own love." Here lay it down, nor 
fear 

To impose it on a shoulder which upholds 

The g-overnment of worlds. Tet closer come; 

Thou art not near enough: I would embrace 
thy care. 

So I might feel my child reposing on my 
heart. 

Thou lovest me? I doubt it not; 

Then loving me, lean hard. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

"A little while" — 
Lone pilgrim, hear the word 
Of thy dear absent Lord; 
He said thou shouldst not see him for a 
while; 

The dark defile 
Of life doth briefly hide his tender smile. 

"A little while" 
The veil may intervene. 
The darkness liang between 
The form thou lovest and thy weary eyes; 

The mists will rise. 
And that will be a sweet and strange sur- 
prise. 

"A little while" 
And life's dark passing storm 
Shall change to sunlight warm. 
And all with these shall be eternal calm, 

And angel psalm 
Shall on thy spirit pour its healing balm. 

"A little while" 
And thou shalt strangely hear 
The accents soft and clear 
Of olden voices ring familiarly, 

And oh! to thee 
How sweet will those glad words of wel- 
come be! 

"A little while" • 
And, softly gliding out 
From this dark sea of doubt. 
Thy thought will rise and wing its easy 
flight 

Through paths of light. 
And thou shalt look upon the Infinite. 

"A little while" 
Thy weary pilgrim feet 



Upon the golden street 
Will stand, and down the shining avenue. 

With radiance new. 
Thine own eternal mansion thou shalt 
view. 

"A little while" 
Pursue the way of faith, 
Though toilsome be the path ; 
Some day the darksome haze will vanish 
quite. 

And on the sight 
Celestial morn will drop its changeless 
li.eht. 

DwiGHT Williams. 



SOMETIME. 

Sometime, when all life's lessons have been 
learned. 
And sun and stars forevermore have set, 
Tlie things which our weak judgments here 
have spurned. 
The things o'er which we grieved Avith 
lashes wet, 
Will flash before us, out of life's dark 
night, 
As stars .shine most in deei'cr tints of 
blue: 
And we shall see how all God's plans are 
right, 
And liow what seemed reproof was love 
most true. 

And we shall see how, while we frown and 
sigh, 
God's plan goes on as best for you and 
me; 
How, when we called, lie heeded not our 
cry. 
Because his wisdom to the end could see. 
And even as wise parents disallow 

Too much of sweet to craving babyhood. 
So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now 
Life's sweetest things because it seemeth 
good. 

And if, sometimes, commingled with life's 
wine, 
We find the wormwood, and rebel and 
shrink, 
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine 
Pours out this potion for our lips to 
drink. 
And if some friend we love is lying low, 
Where human kisses can not reach his 
face, 
Oh, do not blame the loving Father so. 
But wear your sorrow with obedient 
grace! 

And you shall shortly know that lengthened 
breath 
Is not the sweetest gift God sends his 
friend. 
And that sometimes the sable pall of 
death 
Conceals the fairest boon his love can 
send. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



453 



If we could push ajar the gates of life 
And stand within and all God's workings 
see, 

We could interpret all this doubt and strife. 
And for each mystery could find a key! 

But not today. Then be content, poor 
heart! 
God's plans, like lilies pure and white, 
unfold; 
We must not tear the close-shut leaves 
apart; 
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 
And if, through patient toil, we reach the 
land 
Where tired feet, with sandals loose, may 
rest. 
When we shall clearly see and understand, 
I think that we shall say, "God knew 
the best!" 

Mat RiLBt Smith. 



BE STRONG. 

Be strong to hope, O heart! 

Though day is bright. 
The stars can only shine 

In the dark night. 
Be strong, O heart of mine! 

Look towards the light. 

Be strong to bear, O heart! 

Nothing is vain; 
Strive not, for life is care. 

And God sends pain; 
Heaven is above, and there 

Rest will remain. 

Be strong to love, O heart! 

Love knows not wrong; 
Didst thou love, creatures even. 

Life were not long; 
Didst thou love God in heaven. 

Thou wouldst be strong. 

ADELAIDI A. PROCTBB. 



GO BURY THY SORROW. 

Go bury thy sorrow; 

The world hath its share. 
Go bury it deeply; 

Go hide it with care; 
Go think of it calmly 

When curtained by night; 
Go tell it to Jesus, 

And all will be right. 

Go tell it to Jesus: 

He knoweth thy grief: 
Go tell it to Jesus, 

He'll send thee relief. 
Go gather the sunshine 

He sheds on the way; 
He'll lighten thy burden; 

Go, weary one, pray. 

Hearts growing aweary 
With heavier woe 



Now droop mid the darkness — 
Go comfort tliem, go! 

Go bury tliy sorrow; 
Let others be blest: 

Go give them the sunshine; 
Tell Jesus the rest. 



SOMEBODY CARES. 

Somebody knows when your heart aches 

And everything seems to go wrong; 
Somebody knows when the shadows 

Need chasing away with a song; 
Somebody knows when you're lonely 

Tired, discouraged, and blue: 
Somebody wants you to know Him, 

And knows that He dearly loves you. 

Somebody cares when you're tempted 

And the world grows dizzy and dim; 
Somebody cares when you're weakest 

And farthest away from Him; 
Somebody grieves when you've fallen, 

Though you are not lost from His sight; 
Somebody waits for your coming. 

Taking tlie gloom from your night. 

Somebody loves you when weary; 

Somebody loves you when strong; 
Always is waiting to help you. 

Watches you — one of the throng 
Needing His friendship so holy, 

Needing His watch -care so true. 
His name? We call liis name Jesus. 

His people? Just I and just you. 



THE LORD WILL PROVIDE. 

In some way or other the Lord will pro- 
vide: 

It may not be my way, 
It may not be thy way. 
And yet, in his own way, 
"The Lord will provide." 

At some time or other the Lord will pro- 
vide: 

It may not be my time. 
It may not be thy time. 
And yet, in his own time. 
"The Lord will provide." 

Despond, then, no longer: the Lord will 
provide: 

And this be the token: 
No word he hath spoken 
Was ever yet broken: 
"The Lord will provide." 

March on, then, right boldly; tlie sea shall 
divide 

The pathway made glorious; 
With shoutings victorious. 
We'll join in the chorus. 
"The Lord will provide." 

MBS. >t. A. W. Coos. 



454 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"fear thou not." 

"Fear thou not, for I am with thee"; 

Child of God, be this thy stay; 
God, the mighty God, is with thee. 

Yielding comfort by the way. 

"Fear thou not" when want draws nigh 
thee; 

Poorer he has fared than thou: 
Can the stores of heaven supply thee? 

Plead his promise, precious now. 

"Fear thou not" when sickness falleth; 

Healing balm will then be given; 
Or it may be Jesus calleth, 

Calleth his beloved to heaven. 

"Fear thou not" when death bereaves thee, 
■When the loved can love no more; 

He Is near who never leaves thee; 
He can soothe — lie wept before! 

"Fear thou not" when hopes have faded 
And thick sorrow clouds the mind; 

Though the light a while is shaded. 
Know thy sun is still behind. 



HOW FIRM A FOUNDATION. 

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the 

Lord, 
Is laid for your faith in his excellent Word! 
What more can he say than to you he hath 

said. 
To you who for refuge to Jesus have fled? 

"Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dis- 
mayed! 

For I am thy God: I will still give thee 
aid; 

I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause 
thee to stand. 

Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand. 

"Wlien through the deep waters I call thee 

to go, 
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow; 
For I will be with thee thy troubles to 

bless, 
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress. 

"Wlien through fiery trials thy pathway 
shall lie. 

My grace all suflicient shall be thy sup- 
ply; 

The flame shall not harm thee: I only de- 
sign 

Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to re- 
fine. 

"In ev'ry condition — in sickness and health, 
In poverty's vale or abounding in wealth. 
At home or abroad, on the land, on the 

sea — 
As thy days may demand shall thy strenRth 

ever be. 



"E'en down to old age all my people shall 

prove 
My constant, eternal, unchangeable love; 
And when hoary hairs shall their temples 

adorn. 
Like lambs they shall still on my bosom 

be borne. 

"The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for 

repose 
I will not, I will not desert to his foes; 
That soul, though all hell should endeavor 

to shake, 
I'll never, no, never, no, never forsake!" 

Geobgi Keith. 



STRENGTH VS. FAINTING. 

O pilgrim bound for heaven's goal, 

And toiling day by day 
To lead some other precious soul 

Into the narrow way. 
How stands thy courage, faith, and hope 

Wlien in adversity? 
How wears thy robe of righteousness 

Of spotless purity? 

And when the battle waxes hot. 

And foes oppress thee hard. 
Art thou inclined to falter tlicn 

And in the race retard? 
If this should be thy lot, dear soul. 

This message then is thine; 
And as we read the blessed Book 

We'll see some truth divine. 

Although thy trembling heart seems faint, 

Thy strength seems very small, 
Yet thou the goodness of the Lord 

Shalt see when thou shalt call; 
For he who calmly waits on God 

In humble secret prayer, 
Shall surely have his strength renewed 

While he is lingering there. 

God giveth power to the faint; 

To them that Iiave no might 
Increaseth he their strength when they 

Are bent to do the right. 
Let courage, then, embrace thy heart; 

Trust that unfailing Word 
With its inspiring promises — 

The sweetest ever heard. 

Acquaint thee now thyself with God; 

Faint not at his reproof, 
But pray, and let his own dear hand 

Arrange thy warp and woof. 
So that thy garments shall be made 

Of linen that's the best — 
The kind that smells not of the flame 

Of any fiery test. 

Yes, manfully unsheathe thy sword 

And exercise the power 
That thou hast gained while waiting in 

Devotion's quiet hour; 
And when the battle thou hast fought 

By order of thy King, 



POEMS OF RELIGIOX^Encouragement, Comfort. 



Thou tlien shalt bask in victory 
And songs of triumph sing. 

And how much greater is the joy 

And consolation then 
To know thou valiantly didst fight — 

Shrank not, like fainting men: 
Then question not thy strength again, 

Nor idly spend thy days: 
Be strong — acknowledge thy God, 

In all thy works and ways. 

Gloeu G. Hcnnej. 



CONSOLATION. 

Far away in lands immortal, 

Where the Eden bowers bloom, 
When this earthly tabernacle 

Shall have passed the narrow tomb. 
There the cross we thought so heavy, 

Borne through life with tears and 
prayers. 
We'll behold in garnished beauty. 

And his love will heal the scars. 

Wlien we view again the nail-prints 

And the precious thorn-pierced brow, 
We'll exclaim with new-born vision, 

" 'Twas because he loved us so!" 
And he'll know the storms and heartaches 

And the perils we have passed. 
While we can but weep and wonder 

How we reached that home at last. 

'Twas because he trod the wine-press. 

Crossed before each stepping-stone, 
Till the ransom, by atonement. 

Won for us a future crown. 
We may to its fadeless beauty 

Add some stars to glisten there — 
Loving ones to smile and beckon 

When we reach those portals fair. 

There methinks, with grateful homage. 

In those mansions now unseen. 
We'll relate the fears and doubtings 

WTien earth's shadows stood between. 
Clothed in the immortal vision. 

Looking in his lovely face, 
Shall we some time weep and question, 

"Oh! how could we doubt his grace?" 

For these faded linen garments, 

Robes of splendor we shall wear. 
And the cross we'll say was precious, 

Wlien we could its glory share. 
But sometimes we trod the valley 

(Seemed a long and lonely while), 
And the mist and gloom o'erhanging 

Hid from view his cheering smile. 

Then he'll wipe away the tear-drops. 

In his loveliness sublime. 
Saying, "WTnen I left, I promised 

To be with thee all the time." 
Then, methinks, the angel choir 

Will another anthem swell. 
Singing, "Father, Son, and Spirit 

Every promise do fulfill" 

.Te.vvik Mart. 



GODS MYSTERIOUS WAY. 

God moves in a mysterious way 

His wonders to perform; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea. 

And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill. 
He treasures up his bright designs, 

And works his sovereign will. 

Te fearful saints, fresh courage take; 

The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 

In blessings on your bead. 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. 
But trust him for his grace; 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes will ripen fast. 

Unfolding every hour; 
The bud may have a bitter taste, 

But sweet will be the flower. 

William Cowpkb. 



FRESH SPRINGS. 

Hear the Father's ancient promise! 

Listen, thirsty, weary one! 
"I will pour my Holy Spirit 

On thy chosen seed, O Son." 
Promise to the Lord's anointed. 

Gift of God to him for thee! 
Now, by covenant appointed. 

All thy springs in him shall be. 

Springs of life in desert places 

Shall thy God unseal for thee; 
Quickening and reviving graces, 

Dew-like, healing, sweet and free; 
Springs of sweet refreshment flowing, 

Wlien thy work is hard or long. 
Courage, hope, and power bestowing, 

Lightening labor with a song. 

Springs of peace, when conflict heightens. 

Thine uplifted eye shall see — 
Peace that strengthens, calms, and bright- 
ens; 

Peace, itself a victory. 
Springs of comfort, strangely springing. 

Through the bitter wells of woe; 
Founts of hidden gladness, bringing 

Joy that earth can ne'er bestow. 

Thine, O Christian, is this treasure, 

To thy risen Head assured: 
Thine in full and gracious measure; 

Thine by covenant secured. 
Now arise! His word possessing. 

Claim the promise of the Lord: 
Plead through Christ for showers of bless- 
ing. 

Till the Spirit be outpoured. 

Fbances Ridlet Haveeoai.. 



45(5 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



IN HEAVENLY LOVE ABIDING. 

In heavenly love abiding, 

No change my heart shall fear; 
And safe is such confiding. 

For nothing changes here: 
The storm may roar without me. 

My heart may low be laid; 
But God is round about me. 

And can I be dismayed? 

Wherever he may guide me. 

No v/ant shall turn me back; 
My Shepherd is beside me. 

And nothing can I lack. 
His wisdom ever waketh. 

His sight is never dim; 
He knows the way he taketh. 

And I will walk with him. 

Green pastures are before me. 

Which yet I have not seen; 
Bright skies will soon be o'er me, 

Where darkest clouds have been. 
My hope I can not measure; 

My path to life is free: 
My Savior has my treasure. 

And he will walk with me. 

Anna I.. Warring. 



"tempted and tried. 

"Tempted and tried!" 

Oh! the terrible tide 
May be raging and deep, may be wrathful 
and wide. 

Yet its fury is vain. 

For the Lord shall restrain. 
And forever and ever Jehovah shall reign. 

"Tempted and tried!" 
There is One : t thy side, 

And never in vain shall his children con- 
fide; 

He shall save and defend. 
For he loves to the end, 

Adorable Master and glorious Friend! 

"Tempted and tried!" 
Wbate'er may betide. 
In his secret pavilion his children shall 
hide; 

Neath the shadowing wing 
Of eternity's King 
His children shall trust and his servants 
shall sing. 

"Tempted and tried!" 
Yet the Lord shall abide 
Thy faithful Redeemer, thy Keeper and 
Guide, 

Thy Shield and thj- Sword, 
Thine exceeding Reward: 
Then enough for the servant to be as his 
Lord! 

"Tempted and tried!" 
The Savior who died 



Hath called thee to suffer and reign by his 
side; 

His cross thou shall bear. 
And his crown thou shall wear. 
And forever and ever his glory shall share. 
Frances Ridley Uave&qal. 



THE LORD WILL PROVIDE. 

Though troubles assail and dangers af- 
fright, 

Though friends should all fail and foes 
all unite. 

Yet one thing secures us, whatever be- 
tide. 

The scripture assures us, "The Lord will 
provide." 

The birds, without barn or storehouse, are 
fed; 

From them let us learn to trust for our 
bread : 

His saints what is fitting shall ne'er be de- 
nied 

So long as 'tis written, "The Lord will 
provide." 

His call we obey, like Abram of old — 
Not knowing our way; but faith makes us 

bold; 
For though we are strangers, we have a 

sure guide. 
And trust in all dangers, "The Lord will 

provide." 

tVlien .Satan appears to shut up our path. 
And fills us with fears, we triumph by 

faith ; 
He can not take from us (though oft he 

has tried ) 
This heart-cheering promise, "The Lord will 

provide." 

He tells us we're weak, our hope is in vain. 

The good that we seek we ne'er shall ob- 
tain; 

But when such suggestions our graces 
have tried. 

This answers all questions: "The Lord will 
provide-" 

No strength of our own or goodness we 
claim; 

Tel since we have known the Savior's great 
name. 

In this, our strong tower, for safety we 
hide: 

The Lord is our power, "''he Lord will pro- 
vide." 

When life sinks apace and death is in 

view. 
The word of his grace shall comfort us 

through ; 
Not fearing or doubting, with Christ on 

our side. 
We hope to die shouting, "The Lord will 

provide." 

John NbwtoN. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



457 



GOD UNDERSTANDS. 

It is so sweet to know, 
When we are tired, and wlien the hand of 

pain 
Lies on our liearts, and when we look in 

vain 
For human comfort, that the heart divine 
Still understands these cares of yours and 

mine: 

Not only understands, but day by day 
Lives with us while we tread the earthly 

way. 
Bears with us all our weariness, and feels 
The shadow of the faintest cloud that 

steals 
Across our sunshine, even learns again 
The depth and bitterness of human pain. 

There is no sorrow that he will not share; 
No cross, no burden, for our hearts to bear 
Without his help; no care of ours too small 
To cast on Jesus: let us tell him all — 
Lay at his feet the story of our woes, 
And in his sympathy find sweet repose. 



MARA. 

Out from the depths I cry to Thee; 

Wild are the winds that round me blow. 
High roll the waves that buffet me; 

Wliy, Lord, why is it so? 

My dearest earthly wish denied, 
My days devoid of all delight, 

My life bark stranded where the tide 
Goes out in darkest night. 

The phantoms of my dead hopes rise; 

I stretch my longing arms in vain; 
They, mocking, echo back the cries 

Which ill relieve my pain. 

So varied were the woes I felt, 
So dark the future looked to be. 

1 marveled why the Lord had dealt 
So bitterly with me. 

And as I sadly mused, came then 

These words, so sweet yet strangely 
clear. 

As music o'er the waters when 
All is still: "Be of good cheer." 

"He chastens whom he loves" — am I 
For this distinction fit? O Lord, 

I proudly claim the honor high 
Thus granted in thy Word. 

Oh, glorious fruth to hearts sore tried 
By sorrows here! Who suffers most, 

Whate'er of bitter grief betide. 
May of God's favor boast, 

And closer kinship feel with One 
■WTio knelt in dark Gethsemane, 

■WTio agonized till all was done — 
A sin-bound world set free. 



O Love divine! O thorn-crowned head! 

O radiant cross upraised for me! 
O precious blood on Calvary shed! 

Up from the depths I fly to thee. 

MBS. Mattih L. Baileit. 



SOWING AND REAPING. 

Sow with a generous hand; 

Pause not for toil or pain; 
Weary not through the heat of summer. 

Weary not through the cold spring rain; 
But wait till the autumn comes 

For the sheaves of golden grain. 

Sow, and look onward, upward, 
Where the starry light appears; 

Where, in spite of the coward's doubting, 
Or your own heart's trembling fears 

Tou shall reap in joy the harvest 
You have sown today in bitter tears. 

Adelaide a. Prootkr. 



LOOK ALOFT. 

In the tempest of life, when the wave and 
the gale 

Are around and above, if thy footing should 
fail, 

If thine eye should grow dim and thy cau- 
tion depart, 

"Look aloft," and be firm, and be fearless 
of heart. 

If the friend who embraced in prosperity's 

glow. 
With a smile for each joy and a tear for 

each woe. 
Should betray thee when sorrows like 

clouds are arrayed. 
"Look aloft" to the friendship which never 

shall fade. 

Should the visions which hope spreads in 
light to thine eye, 

Like the tints of the rainbow, but bri^liten 
to fly. 

Then turn, and, through tears of repent- 
ant regret, 

"Look aloft" to the sun that is never to set. 

Should they who are dearest, the son of 

thy heart. 
The wife of thy bosom, in sorrow depart. 
"Look aloft" from the darkness and dust 

of the tomb, 
To that soil where "affection is ever in 

bloom." 

And oh! when death comes in his terrors. 

to cast 
His fears on the future, his pall on the 

past. 
In that moment of darkness, with hope in 

thy heart. 
And a smile in thine eye, "look aloft," and 

depart. 

.ToNATHAN Lawrence. 



458 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



CONSOLATION. 

I love to think there is a home 
Of rest beyond tliis world of care, 

A land where tears are wiped away. 
And sorrow never enters there; 

And with an eye of faith I see 

A mansion bright prepared for me. 

I love to think, when tempted sore 
And storms of persecution rise, 

Tliat Jesus trod the way before; 

He sees my tears and hears my sighs. 

'Tia then by faitli on Him I call, 

TA'lio heedeth e'en the sparrow's fall. 

I love to read his precious Word, 

So full of counsel, truth, and love; 
Its promises are stepping-stones, 

Leading from earth to heaven above- 
Lord, keep me in the narrow way. 
And help me humbly watcli and pray. 

Oh! may our lives to others prove 

That we're tPie Lord's by heavenly birth. 

And may we strive in love to make 
His name a lasting praise on earth. 

May we be worthy of that home 

With Christ around the Father's throne. 

Lucl M. Lewis. 



A PRESENT HELP. 

There is never a day so dreary 

But God can make it bright; 
And unto the soul that trusts him 

He giveth songs in the night. 
There is never a path so hidden 

But God will show the way 
If we seek for the Spirit's guidance 

And patiently watch and pray. 

There is never a cross so heavy 

But the lovinir hand.s are there, 
Outstretched in tender compassion. 

The burden to help us bear. 
There is never a heart that is broken 

But the loving Christ can heal: 
For the heart that was pierced on Calvary 

Doth still for his people feel. 

There is never a life so burdened. 

So hopeless and unblest, 
But may be filled with the light of God, 

And enter his promised rest. 
There is never a sin or a sorrow, 

Tliere is never a care or a loss. 
But we may carry to Jesus 

And leave at the foot of the cross. 

What more can we ask than he's promised? 

And we know that his word can not fail — 
Our refuge when storms are impending, 

Our help when temptations assail. 
Our Savior, our Friend, and Redeemer 

Our portion on earth and in heaven; 
For he who withheld not his own dear Son 

Hath with him all things freely given. 



THE STORM AND THE TRIAL. 

With rumble of thunder, and lightning 
flash. 

And drenching torrents of rain, 
The storm passed by, over hill and vale, 

And left the air pure again. 

With dark forebodings, my trials came, 
Like a deatli-knell's mournful toll; 

But faith looked up, and the trial passed 
And left sweet peace in my soul. 

LOBAU UoLaik. 



BRIGHT AND YET BRIGHTER. 

Be of good cheer.— Matt. 14 : 27. , 

"Be of good cheer" through the year that 
is dawning: 
Naught can o'ertake thee that God hath 
not planned: 
Thou art his child, and thy good he Is seek- 
ing; 
Leave, then, thy life In his fatherly hand. 

"Be of good cheer"; this the message I 
send thee — 
Simple and short, but the words of thy 
King — 
All through each day, and the duties U 
brings thee; 
Oh, let it ever heart-melody ring. 

Trouble may come; cast thyself and thy 
burden 

Down at the footstool of mercy divine. 
God hatli the power to deliver the needy; 

Ho care can take of that burden of thine. 

"Be of good cheer"; let thy lips sound his 

praises; 

Tell forth thy love by a life that is glad; 

Let thy liglit shine in the darkest of places; 

Show how God comforteth them that are 

sad. 

Pass on the message, for others are need- 
ing 
Comfort, perchance, from thy lips by the 
way; 
Tell how thy Savior to thee hath been 
faitliful; 
Prove by your life that you mean what 
you say. 

"Be of good cheer"; speak it ever so gently. 

Softly, and low, when the tempest i.i 

high; 

Waves can not drown that sweet message 

of comfort. 

Telling lost souls their Redeemer is nigh. 

Out on the waters of much tribulation 
They may be tossing in grief and de- 
spair; 
Point them to Jesus, the Friend of the help- 
less: 
Tell how he waiteth to succor them there. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



459 



Then shall there shine In thine innermost 
being 
Radiance that never a fadinir will know; 
Bright and yet briglUer the days will be 
growing 
Whilst thou art comfortins others below. 
Chablottb Murr^i. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Our yet unfinished story 

Is tending all to this: 
To God the greatest glory, 

To us the greatest bliss . 

I( all things work together 
For ends so grand and blest, 

What need to wonder whether 
Each In Itself is best? 

If some things were omitted 
Or altered as we would. 

The whole might be unfitted 
To work for perfect good. 

Our plans may be disjointed. 
But we may calmly rest; 

What God has once appointed 
Is better than our best. 

We can not see before us, 
But our all-seeing Friend 

Is always watching o'er us. 
And knows the very end. 

WTiat though we seem to stumble? 

He will not let us fall; 
And learning to be humble 

Is not lost time at all. 

Wliat though we fondly reckoned 

A smoother way to go 
Than where his hand has beckoned? 

It will be Better so. 

WTiat only seemed a barrier 
A stepping-stone shall be; 

Our God is no long tarrier, 
A present help is he 

And when amid our blindness 
His disappointments fall. 

We trust his loving-kindness 
Whose wisdom sends them all. 

They are the purple fringes 
That hide his glorious feet; 

They are the flre-wrought hinges 
Where truth and mercy meet; 

By them the golden portal 
Of Providence shall ope. 

And lift to praise immortal 
The songs of faith and hope. 

From broken alabaster 

Was deathless fragrance shed. 

The spikenard flowed the faster 
Upon the Savior's head. 



No shattered box of ointment 

We ever need regret. 
For out of disappointment 

Flow sweetest odors y»t. 

The discord that involveth 

Some startling change of k«y, 

The Master's hand resolveth 
In richest harmony. 

We liush our children's laughter 
When sunset hues grow pale; 

Then, in the silence after. 
They hear the nightingale. 

We mourned the lamp declining, 
That glimmered at our side; 

The glorious starlight shining 
Has proved a surer guide. 

Then tremble not and shrink not 
When Disappointment nears; 

Be trustful still, and think not 
To realize all fears. 

While Ave are meekly kneeling;. 

We shall behold her rise. 
Our Father's love revealing. 

An angel in disguise. 

F«.tNOBS RiDLii HirnaiL. 



HE KNOWETH YOUR NEED. 

I %vould not worry, if I were you; 

The days will come, and the days will go. 
And anon the sky will be gray or blue, 

And the earth be covered with flowers 
or snow. 
The sun will shine or the rain will fall. 
But God stands over and under all. 

Some days will be dark, with scarcely a 
sign 
That God ever gave you a loving thought; 
And his face will be hid with his love 
benign. 
And your soul lie prone with a flght ill 
fought; 
And life will seem empty of every Joy — 
A worthless bauble, a broken toy. 

But I would not worry, if I were you; 
It will all come right, pretty soon, de- 
pend; 
The rain will cease and the sky grow blue. 
And God to your heart will kindly send 
His message of love — and by and by 
Tou will wonder why you should be sad 
and cry. 

Bide close to the Father, let come what 
may; 

Reach out for his hand in rain or shine; 
He will turn your night into sweetest day 

And share his bounty of love divine 
He never forgets for a single day; 
Why need, then, to fret and worry alway? 

3. B. MoMlNSa. 



460 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



WE LL UNDERSTAND. 

Not now, but in the coming years, 

It may be in tlie better land. 
We'll read the meaning of our tears, 

And til ere, sometime, we'll understand. 

We'll catch the broken thread again, 
And finish what we here began; 

Heaven will mysteries explain, 

And then, ah, then, we'll understand. 

We'll know why clouds instead of sun 
Were over many a cherished plan, 

Why song- has ceased when scarce begun; 
'Ti9 there, sometime, we'll understand. 

■Why what we long for most of all. 
Eludes so oft our eagrer hand; 

Why hopes are crushed and castles fall, — 
Up there, sometime, we'll understand. 

God knows the way, he holds the key. 
He guides us with unerring hand; 

Sometime with tearless eyes we'll see; 
Yes, there, up there, we'll understand. 

Then, trust in God through all thy days; 

Fear not, for he doth hold thy hand; 
Though dark thy way, still sing and praise: 

Sometime, sometime, we'll understand. 



UNANSWERED Y^T? 

Unanswered yet the prayer your lips have 
pleaded 
In agony of heart these many years? 
Docs faith begin to fail? is hope declining? 
And think you all in vain these falling 
tears? 
Say not the Father has not heard your 

prayer; 
Tou shall have your desire sometime, some- 
where. 

Unanswered yet, though when you first 
presented 
This one petition at the Father's throne, 

It seemed you could not wait the time of 
asking, 
So anxious was your heart to have it 
done? 

If years have passed since then, do not 
despaif, 

For God will answer you sometime, some- 
where. 

Unanswered yet? But you are not unheeded; 

The promises of God forever stand; 
To him our days and years are equal. 
"Have faith in God!" It is your Lord's 
command. 
Hold on to Jacob's angel, and your prayer 
Shall bring a blessing down sometime, 
somewhere. 



■pnanswered yet? 
swered : 



Nay do not say unan- 



Perhaps your part is not yet wholly 

done; 

The work began when first your prayer 

was uttered. 

And God will finish what he has begun. 

Keep incense burning at the shrine of 

prayer. 
And glory shall descend sometime, some- 
where. 

Unanswered yet? Faith can not be unan- 
swered: 
Her feet are firmly planted on the Rock; 

Amid the wildest storms she stands un- 
daunted. 
Nor quails before the loudest thunder- 
shock; 

She knows Omnipotence has heard her 
prayer, 

And cries, "It shall be done sometime, some- 
where." 



A GOODLY HERITAGE. 

A life of beauty lends to all it sees 

The beauty of its thought, 
And fairest forms and sweetest harmonies 

Make glad its way unsought. 

In sweet accordancy of praise and love, 

The singing waters ruji, 
And sunset mountains wear in light above 

The smile of duty done. 

Sure stands the promise — ever to the meek 

A heritage is given; 
Nor lose they earth who, single-hearted, 
seek 
The righteousness of heaven. 

John grkenlbap Whittier, 



EXHORTATiON TO PRAYER. 

What various hindrances we meet 
When coming to a mercy-seat! 
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer 
But wishes to be often there? 

Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw; 
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw. 
Gives exercise to faith and love, 
Brings every blessing from above. 

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; 
Prayer makes the Christian's armor bright; 
And Satan trembles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees. 

While Moses stood with arms spread wide, 
Success was found on Israel's side; 
But when through weariness they failed. 
That moment Amalek prevailed. 

Have you no words? Ah, think again! 
Words flow apace when you complain, 
.\nd fill y.iur fellow creature's ear 
With the sad tale of all your care. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



4G1 



Were half the breath thus vainly spent 
To heaven in supplication sent. 
Tour cheerful song would oftener be, 
"Hear what the Lord hath done for me." 
William Cowpkb. 



PRIZING THE CROSS. 

If thou, impatient, do let slip thy cross. 
Thou wilt not find it in this world again, 
Nor in another; here and here alone 
Is given thee to suflfer for God's sake. 
In other worlds we may more perfectly 
Love him and serve him, praise him, 
Grow nearer and nearer to him with de- 
light: 
But then we shall not any more 
Be called to suffer, which is our appoint- 
ment here. 
Canst thou not suffer, then, one hour or 

two? 
If he should call thee from thy cross to- 
day. 
Saying. "It is finished that hard cross of 

thine 
From which thou prayest for deliverance," 
Thinkest thou not some passion of regret 
■Would overcome thee? Thou wouldst say. 
"So soon? Let me go back and suffer yet 

a while 
More patiently. I have not yet praised 

God." 
Whensoe'er it comes, that summons that 

we look for. 
It will seem soon, too soon. Let us taUe 

heed in time 
That God may now be glorified in us. 



TIS I; BE NOT AFRAID. 

Consoling words the Savior speaks 

To all who are dismayed. 
And whispers to the lost he seeks, 

" 'Tis I; be not afraid." 

■WTien tlireatening clouds obscure our view 

And storms our path invade. 
There comes a voice that can subdue — 

"'Tis I; be not afraid." 

Oh, who could bear life's stormy doom, 
Or heal the deep wounds made? 

None save whose voice comes through the 
gloom, 
"'Tis I; be not afraid" 

When black the threatening skies appear 
And death hides in their shade. 

There's only one who calms all fear: 
"'Tis I: be not afraid." 

When in the hours of lonely woe 

We need a friend's kind aid. 
Then comes a whisper sweet and low, 

"'Tis I: be not afraid." 



He who has helped us hitherto, 
'V\"hen foes have been arrayed. 

Speaks softly all the journey through, 
"'Tis I; be not afraid." 

That voice leads home, apace, to God 
The wand'rers who have strayed. 

And, pleading, calls to those who plod, 
"'Tis I; be not afraid." 

'Tis sweet to look beyond all pain, 

Where glories are displayed. 
-Vnd count our days eternal gain 

Where none shall be afraid. 

Amos E. Flint. 



THE PROMISED REST. 

Trust on, dear heart, He hears thy earnest 
pleading: 
Knows all thy toil, thy loss, and weary 
pain. 
Trust on, in spite of all the world's un- 
heeding: 
He'll give thee peace again. 

Behind the tumult of this life's vain striv- 
ing. 
Unseen, but ever near, the Savior stands. 
And notes each feature of the wild up- 
rising 
O'er all the weary lands — 

Notes but to save and bless, though to 
our seeming 
No light arises in the midnight sky. 
And in the dark we falter, never dream- 
ing 
That God's own help is nigh. 

O weary millions, striving, falling, dying. 
Unknown, uncared for, with dark sin op- 
pressed. 
Hark to that voice in tender accents cry- 
ing, 
"Come, I will give you rest" — 

A rest that turns all earthly loss to gain, 
That calms each fear and bids each sor- 
row cease. 
And mid life's stress and sin and grief 
and pain. 
Whispers eternal peace. 

Oh, blessed peace, obtained at such a loss. 
Mid scorn, and hate, and death at man's 
behest! 
Hark to the voice of love from Calvary's 
cross — 
"I died to give thee rest. 

"I died to give thee life, joy, hope, and 
strength: 
To break sin's chain, to set the captive 
free: 
To bring thee to my Father's home at 
length : 
Then come, dear heart, to me." 

Lewis a. Salmon. 



462 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



DAILY STRENGTH. 

"As thy days thy strength shall be!" 
This should be enough for thee; 
He who knows thy frame will spare 
Burdens more than thou canst bear. 

When thy days are veiled in night, 
Christ shall give thee heavenly light; 
Seem they wearisome and long, 
Yet in him thou shalt be strong. 

Cold and wintry though they prove, 
Thine the sunshine of his love; 
Or, with fervid heat oppressed, 
In his shadow thou shalt rest. 

When thy days on earth are past, 
Christ shall call thee home at last. 
His redeeming love to praise, 
Who hath strengthened all thy days. 
Frances Ridlet Haveroal. 



"father, TAKE MY HAND. 

The way is dark, my Father; cloud on cloud 
Is gathering thickly o'er my head, and loud 
The thunders roar above me. See, I stand 
Like one bewildered! Father, take my hand 

And through the gloom 

Lead safely home 
Thy child. 

The day goes fast, my Father, and the 

night 
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless 

sight 
Sees ghostly visions; fears, a spectral band, 
Encompass me. O Father! take my hand 
And from the night 
Lead up to light 
Thy child. 

The way is long, my Father, and my soul 
Longs for the rest and quiet of the goal; 
While yet I journey through this weary 

land. 
Keep me from wandering. Father, take 
my hand; 

Quickly and straight 

Lead to heaven's gate 

Thy child. 

The path is rough, my Father; many a 

thorn 
Has pierced me, and my weary feet, all 

torn 
And bleeding, mark the way. Yet thy com- 
mand 
Bids me press forward. Father, take my 
hand; 

Then, safe and blest. 
Lead up to rest 
Thy child. 

The throng is great, my Father. Many a 

doubt 
And fear and danger compass me about. 
And foes oppress me sore. I can not stand 



or go alone. O Father! take my hand 
And through the throne 
Lead safe along 
Thy child. 

The cross is heavy, Father. I have borne 
It long, and still do bear it. Let my worn 
And fainting spirit rise to that blessed 

land 
Where crowns are given. Father, take my 
hand. 

And, reaching down. 
Lead to the crown 
Thy child. 

HENEt N. Cobb. 



THE GRACIOUS ANSWER. 

Tlie way is dark, my child, but leads to 

light. . 
I -would not always have thee walk by 

sight; 
My dealings now thou canst not under- 
stand: 
I meant it so; but I will take thy hand 
And through the gloom 
Lead safely home 
My child. 

The dav goes fast, my child; but is the night 
Darker to me than day? In me is light! 
Keep close to me, and every spectral band 
Of fears shall vanish. I will take thy hand 

And through the night 

Lead up to light 
My child. 

The way is long, my child, but it shall be 
Not one step longer than is best for thee; 
And thou shalt know, at last, when thou 

Shalt stand 

Safe at the goal, how I did take thy hand 

And quick and straight 

Lead to heaven's gate 

My child. 

The path is rough, my child: but oh, how 

sweet 
Will be the rest, for weary pilgrims meet, 
When thou shalt reach the borders of that 

land 
To which I lead thee, as I take thy hand. 
And safe and blest 
With me shalt rest 
My child. 

The throng is great, my child, but at thy 

side 
Thy Father walks: then, be not terrified. 
For I am with thee; will thy foes com- 
mand 
To let thee freely pass; will take thy hand 
And through the throng 
Lead safe along 
My child. 

The cross is heavy, child, yet there was 

One 
Who bore a heavier for thee — my Son, 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort 



463 



My well-beloved. For him bear tliine, and 

stand 
With him at last and from thy Father's 
band, 

Thy cross laid down. 
Receive a crown, 
My child. 

HENB5 N. Cobb. 



BE PATIENT. 

O heart of mine, be patient! 

Soma glad day, 
With all life's puzzling problems 

Solved for aye, 
'U'ith all its storms and doublings 

Cleared away, 
With all its litlle disappointments past. 
It Eliall be thine to understand at last. 

Be patient! Some sweet day 

The anxious care. 
The fears and trials, and the 

Hidden snare. 
The grief that comes upon thee 

Unaware, 
Shall with the fleeting years be laid aside, 
And thou Shalt then be fully satisfied. 

Be patient! Keep thy life-work 

Well in hand; 
Be trustful where thou canst not 

Understand: 
Thy lot, where'er it be, is 

Wisely planned: 
Whate'er its mysteries, God holds the key: 
Thou well canst trust him and bide pa- 
tiently. 



HE CARETH FOR YOU. 

What can it mean? Is it aught to Him 
That the days are long and the nights are 

dim? 
Can he be touched by the griefs I bear, 
■«niich sadden the heart and whiten the 

hair? 
About his throne are eternal calms, 
.^nd strong, glad music of happy psalms, 
And bliss unruffled by any strife — 
How can he care for my little life? 

And yet I want him to care for me 
While I live in this world where sorrows 

be. 
\Mien the lights die down from the path I 

take; 
WTien strength is feeble, and friends for- 
sake. 
And love and music, which once did bless. 
Have left me to silence and loneliness,^ 
Then my heart-song changes to sobbing 

prayers. 
And my heart cries out for a God who 
cares. 



Wlien shadows hang o'er the whole day 

long. 
And my spirit is bowed with sliame and 

wrong, 
And I am not good, and the bitter shade 
Of conscious sin makes my soul afraid. 
And the busy world has too much to do 
To stay in its courses and help me through. 
And I long for a Savior, — can it be 
That the God of tlie universe cares for me? 

Oh, wonderful story of deathless love. 
Each child is dear to that heart above! 
He fights for me when I can not fight; 
He comforts me in the gloom of night; 
He lifts the burden, for he is strong; 
He stills the sigh and wakes the song; 
The sorrows that bear me down, he shares. 
And loves and pardons because he cares. 

Let all who are sad take heart again. 
We are not alone in our hours of pain; 
Our Father looks from his throne above 
To soothe and comfort us with his love. 
He leaves us not wlien the storms are high; 
And we have safety, for he is nigh. 
Can that be trouble which he doth share? 
Oh, rest in peace, for the Lord will care! 



ALWAYS REMEMBERED. 

Docs he forget when the clouds hang low. 

While we trembling watch and weep. 
And sometimes ask, "Does the Savior know 

There's a tempest on the deep?" 
Ah, yes! dear heart, he knows and cares; 

But that our faith may rise, 
He seemeth not to heed our fears 

When thunders rend the skies. 

Do we sometimes think he careth not 

When wa tread the thorns alone. 
When the fairest gift his love hath brought 

We lay in the narrow tomb? 
Oh, no! 'tis but to prove his love. 

That wo may share the pain 
That rent the sacred courts above 

Wlien Christ for sin was slain. 

Does he forget the furnace flame 

We bear with an aching heart? 
When loved ones grieve and comrades 
blame, 

Does he not new strength impart? 
And when before his crucible 

We shrink in helpless fear. 
In tender pity, faithful still. 

We find him always near. 

Oh, that today on his breast divine. 
We might rest and weep a while! 

For our soul grows faint in the tread of 
time 

• And wouU gladly cease from toil; 

But would we have him wear the thorns 
And bear the cross alone? 

Might we not, then, with grief adorn 
Our long-expected crown? 

jENNn Mast. 



464 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ASSURANCE. 

It comes to me more and more 

Each day as I pass along, 
The love of the Father eternal 

Is over us tender and strong. 

'Tis not alone in the sunshine 
Our lives grow pure and true; 

There is growth as well in the shadow, 
And pain has a work to do. 

A message comes in the lieartache, 
A whisper of love in the pain; 

The pang we have fought and conquered 
Tells the sweet story of gain. 

So it comes to me more and more 

As I enter on each new day. 
The love of the Father eternal 

Is over us all the way. 



LOOK AWAY. 

When the storm breaks over thee 

And the angry billows roll. 
Foaming with adversity, 

'Gainst thy body and thy soul; 
Wlien the gale but wilder blows 

As you struggle, plead, and pray, — 
Leave it with the One who knows; 

Eift your eyes and look away. 

If the storm is all you see. 

And you hear naught but its moan. 
Soon discouraged you will be, 

Tossing helpless and alone; 
If, instead, you look above 

And in confidence hold still, 
Tou shall prove God's care and love 

Wliile you rest in his sweet will. 

When the Lord was here below. 

Once he walked the troubled sea. 
And one cried. "If it be thou. 

Bid me. Lord, to come to thee." 
"Come." and Peter firmly trod 

On the surface of the deep: 
For his eyes were on his God, 

■WTio Is always strong to keep. 

Wlien he saw the boisterous waves 

And of them began to think, 
Then he cried, "O Master, save!" 

For his feet began to sink. 
"M'herefore. wherefore didst thou doubt? 

Then the loving Master said. 
Willie he watched the scenes about. 

Fear had come and faith had fled. 

Look away, then, look away 

From the trials dark and long: 
Heaven wills that every day 

Hope should sing her cheering song. 
Trust in spite of doubts and fears; 

Heed not what the foe may say. 
Angels whisper in thine ears. 

"Look to Jesus, look away." 

AKKII M. ABIT. 



LIFE S LESSON. 

I learn as the years roll onward 

And leave the past behind 
That much I counted sorrow 

But proves that God is kind; 
That many a nower I had longed for 

Had hidden a thorn of pain. 
And many a rugged by-path 

Led to fields of ripened grain. 

The clouds that cover the sunshine — 

Tliey can not banish the sun. 
And the earth sliines out the brighter 

Wlien the weary rain is done. 
We must stand in the deepest shadow 

To see the clearest light. 
And often through wrong's own darkness 

Comes the weary strength of light. 

The sweetest rest is at even 

After a wearisome day, 
When the heavy burden of labor 

Has been borne from our hearts away; 
And those who have never known sorrow 

Can not know the infinite peace 
That falls upon the troubled spirit 

When it sees at last release. 

We must live through the dreary winter 

If W9 would value the spring. 
And the woods must be cold and silent 

Before the robins sing. 
The flowers must be buried in darkness 

Before they can bud and bloom, 
.4nd the sweetest, warmest sunshine 

Comes after the storm and the gloom. 



CONTENT AND DISCONTENT. 

Some murmur, when their sky is clear 

And wholly bright to view. 
If one small speck of dark appear 

In their great heaven of blue; 
And some with thankful love are filled, 

If but one streak of light. 
One ray of God's good mercy gild 

The darkness of their night. 

In palaces are hearts that ask. 

In discontent and pride. 
Why life is such a dreary task. 

And all good things denied; 
And hearts in poorest huts admire 

How Love has in their aid 
(Love that not ever seems to tire) 

Such rich provision made. 

Thou earnest not to thy place by accident. 
It is the very place God meant for thee; 
And shouldst thou there small scope for 

action see. 
Do not for this give room to discontent. 
Nor let the time thou owest to God be 

spent 
In idly dreaming how thou mightest be. 
In what concerns thy spiritual life, more 

free 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



405 



From outward hindrance or impediment; 

For presently this hindrance thou shalt 
find 

Tliat witliout which all goodness were a 
task 

So slight, that virtue never could grow 
strong: 

And wouldst thou do one duty to his mind, 

The imposer's — overburdened thou shalt 
ask, 

And own thy need of grace to help, ere- 
long. 

Richard C. Trexch. 



TRUST THY FATHER STILL. 

When thy heart Is cheery. 

Singing like a lark; 
When the way is drearj' 

And the skies are dark — 
Through life's incompleteness 

Of light or shadow dim, 
Still, in patient sweetness, 

Trust it all to Him. 

When thy faith u.psoareth 

In a golden sky. 
When the sad rain poureth. 

And no help is nigh — 
Through the tender gladness 

Of the spirit's flight. 
Through thy soul's deep sadness, 

God is still thy light. 

Wlien thy sweet hope bloometh 

Like a tender flower. 
When a dark cloud loometh 

And shadoweth the hour — 
Tlirough life's strange enfoldim,' 

Of changes, good or ill, 
Still his face beholding. 

Trust thy Father still. 



OUR SAVIOR KNOWS. 

We sometimes wonder why our dearest love 

Is disregarded or unknown in part. 
And why the blessed response we fain 
would have 

Is all forgotten in the troubled heart. 
We ran not understand why all unheard 

Our prayers and kind entreaties seem to 
be. 
And why the most affecting, heartfelt word 

Can touch no chord of mutual sympathy. 

But drift as broken fragments here and 
there. 
Wafted with the tide or tempest tossed. 
Till all their former sweetness disappears. 
And all their lovely fragrance has been 
lost. 
With aching heart and more than willing 
hand 
Most gladly would we gather them again, 



But he who bore our grief can understand, 
And he alone can take away the pain. 

We weep to think that sometimes una- 
ware 
His love so pure and precious we for- 
got; 
And sometimes when the cross seemed 
hard to bear. 
When toil and tears were given all for 
naught, 
'Twas always then some dark foreboding 
cloud 
Would for a time obscure his lovely face. 
And while our broken spirit wept aloud, 
We tried in vain the tangled threads 
to trace. 

But when unraveled by his loving hand, 
And each lost thread put carefully In 
place, 
His slighted love we then can comprehend 
And find a sweeter rest in his embrace; 
'Tis then with contrite heart we look 
above, 
And fearless tread the thorns beneath 
our feet: 
No earthly wealth can compensate his love. 
The wounded heart can find no balm so 
sweet. 

And while his loving face we can not see, 
We'll clasp his pierced hand and follow 
on; 
And should he lead to dark Gethsemane, 
We'll watch and pray End wait the 
morning dawn; 
And though our works may all be cast 
aside, 
The kindest words and deeds be left un- 
known. 
It matters not what grief or ill betide. 
His guardian love will lead us safely 
home. 

JENNIH Mast. 



BE NOT WEARY. 

Yes! He knows the way is dreary. 
Knows the ^^■eakness of our frame. 

Knows that hand and heart are weary; 
He "in all points " felt the same. 

He is near to help and bless; 

Be not weary, onward press. 

Look to Him who once was willing 

All His glory to resign. 
That, for thee the law fulfilling. 

All His merit might be thine. 
.Strive to follow day by day 
Where His footsteps mark the way. 

Look to Him, the Lord of glory, 
Tasting death to win thy life; 

Gazing on "that wondrous story," 
Canst thou falter in the strife? 

Is it not new life to know 

That the Lord hath loved thee so? 



466 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Look to him who ever liveth, 

Interceding: for his own; 
Seek, yea, claim the grace he giveth 

Freely from his priestly throne. 
Will he not thy strength renew 
With his Spirit's quickening dew? 

Look to him, and faith shall brighten, 
Hope shall soar, and love shall burn; 

Peace once more thy heart shall lighten; 
Rise! he calleth thee, return! 

Be not weary on thy way; 

Jesus is thy strength and stay. 

Frances Ridlei Havekoal. 



THE ONE-TALENT MAN. 

He couldn't sing and he couldn't play; 
He couldn't speak and he couldn't pray; 
He'd try to read, but break right down, 
Then sadly grieve and smile or frown: 
While some with talents ten begun. 
He started out with only one. 
"With this," he said, "I'll do my best. 
And trust the Lord to do the rest." 
His trembling hand and tearful eye 
Gave forth a word of sympathy; 
When all alone with one distressed. 
He whispered words that calmed that 
breast; 

And little children learned to know. 
When grieved and troubled, where to go. 
He loved the birds, the flowers, the trees; 
And, loving him, his friends loved these. 
His homely features lost each trace 
Of homeliness, and in his face 
There beamed a kind and tender light 
That made surrounding features bright. 
When illness came, he smiled at fears 
And bade his friends to dry their tears. 
He said, "Good-by," and all confess 
He made of life a grand success. 

John L. Sheoi. 



DO NOT COMPLAIN. 

Wherever be thy spot. 
Whatever be thy lot, 
The furnace may be hot; 

Do not complain. 
The winter winds may roar 
Around thy cottage door; 
Remember then the poor; 

Do not complain. 

Temptations thick may fall. 
Thy faith seem very small; 
Just trust in God through all; 

Do not complain. 
Thy friends may all forsake, 
All hell may try to shake 
Thy soul; keep wide awake; 

Do not complain. 

Dark clouds thine eyes may trace. 
The storm comes on apace; 



Then keep a happy face. 

Do not complain. 
Thy trials ma.v seem so sore, 
While Satan loud may roar; 
Then pray a little more; 

Do not complain. 

Thou hast the meanest fare — 
Not much to eat or wear. 
And naught at all to spare — • 

Do not complain. 
Remember God sees all, 
And marks the sparrow's fall: 
Whatever may befall. 

Do not complain. 

The cares of life are great. 
Unpleasant is thy state. 
Still trust a while and wait; 

Do not complain. 
Remember brother Paul 
Suffered the loss of all. 
And yet had learned withal 

To not complain. 

James B. Bbanam, 



REST IN GOD. 

In vain thou seekest in thyself to find 
Light, life, and joy, or any lasting peace; 

Return to God, seek him with all thy mind, 
The one true source of life and happi- 
ness. 

Return to him, poor erring child of man, 

Where first thy being and thy life began; 

Let all thy longings be to him addressed; 

Then, and then only, shalt thou find true 
rest. 

But ah! thou canst not go to him, for see! 

A mighty wall of separation stands 
Built up by sin between thy God and thee. 
Behold! thy Savior stretches out his 

hands. 
And opens to thee through his precious 

blood 
A way of peace and access to thy God: 
He who broke down that wall and sets thee 

free 
Hath borne thy guilt and thy iniquity. 

Lo! thy Creator gave thee life at first. 
Thy Savior doth a second life bestow; 

He gives thee water to assuage thy thirst, 
A guide to lead thee through this vale 
of woe; 

His spirit giveth sight unto the blind. 

Peace to the heart and clearness to the 
mind. 

New strength and motives virtue to pur- 
sue. 

The love of God and heaven itself in view. 

Behold thee now returned to thy true rest! 
Through the thin veil of time thy joyful 

©yes 
Discern the happy mansions of the blest. 
And heaven's bright walls in dim perspec- 
tive rise. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Enouragement, Comfort. 



467. 



In fear no longer of a Father s rod, 
Thou feelest that thou art reconciled to 

God, 
And though thy troubles do not wholly 

cease, 
Hast a sweet foretaste of thy future bliss. 

Then seek not here in vain a resting-place, 

Nor in thyself expect to find repose; 
Such seeking only aggravates thy case. 

And is embittered with a thousand woes; 
Such seeking wearies, but can not impart 
The peace it longs for to the aching heart; 
Sleep may weigh down the eyes by care 

oppressed. 
But heavy slumber is not peaceful rest. 

Cradle an infant on the softest bed, 

Soothe it with songs of lullaby to rest; 
More gently will it lay its little head. 
More sweetly slumber, on its mother's 

breast; 
■^Tiere the first draught of health and life 

it found, 
There will its sleep be sweet, its slumber 

sound. 
Return, my soul, to God, thine only rest; 
Then, and then only, art thou truly blest 



GOD THE PROVIDER. 

But my God shall supply all your need accord- 
ing to bis ricbes in glory by Christ Jesus. — Phil. 
4: 19. 

Who shall tell our untold need. 

Deeply felt, though scarcely known? 
Who the hungering soul can feed. 

Guard, and guide, but God alone? 
Blessed promise! while we see 
Earthly friends must powerless be, 
Earthly fountains quickly dry: 
"God shall all your need supply." 

He hath said it! so we know 

Nothing less can we receive. 
Oh, that thankful love may glow 

While we restfully believe! 
Ask not how, but trust him still; 
Ask not when, but wait his will: 
Simply on his word rely — 
"God Bliall all your need supply." 

Through the whole of life's long way. 
Outward, inward, need we trace; 

Need arising day by day, 

Patience, wisdom, strength, and grace. 

Needing Jesus most of all. 

Full of need, on him we call; 

Then how gracious his reply, 

"God shall all your need supply!" 

Great our need, but greater far 
Is our Father's loving power; 

He upholds each mighty star. 
He unfolds each tiny flower. 

He who numbers every hair. 

Earnest of his faithful care. 

Gave his Son for us to die: 

"God shall all your need supply." 



Yet we often vainly plead 

For a fancied good denied, 
Wliat we deemed a pressing need 

Still remaining unsupplied; 
Yet from dangers all concealed, 
Thus our wisest Friend doth shield: 
No good thing will He deny; 
"God shall all your need supply." 

Can we count redemption's treasure? 

Scan the glory of God's love? 
Such shall be the boundless measure 

Of his blessings from above. 
All we ask or think, and more. 
He will give in bounteous store; 
He can fill and satisfy: 
"God shall all your need supply." 

One the channel, deep and broad. 

From the fountain of the throne — 
Christ tlie Savior, Son of God; 

Blessings flow through him alone. 
He, the Faithful and the True, 
Brings us mercies ever new: 
Till we reach his home on high, 
"God shall all your need supply." 

FRANCEa RlDLBt HAVEBGAL. 



THE CHRISTIAN S WARFARE. 

Soldier, go — but not to claim 

Moldering spoils to earth-born treasure, 
Not to build a vaunting name. 

Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. 
Dream not that the way is smooth, 

Hope not that the thorns are roses; 
Turn no wistful eye of youth 

Where the sunny beam reposes: 
Thou hast sterner work to do. 
Hosts to cut thy passage through. 
Close behind thee gulfs are burning — 
Forward! there is no returning. 

Soldier, rest — but not for thee 

Spreads the world her downy pillow; 
On the rock thy couch must be. 

While around thee chafes the billow: 
Thine must be a watchful sleep. 

Wearier than another's waking; 
Such a charge as thou dost keep 

Brooks no moment of forsaking. 
Sleep as on the battle-field — 
Girded, grasping sword and shield. 
Those thou canst not name or number 
Steal upon thy broken slumber. 

Soldier, rise — the war is done; 

Lo! the hosts of hell are flying. 
'Twas the Lord thy battle won; 

Jesus vanquished them by dyinir. 
Pass the stream; before thee lies 

All the conquered land of glory. 
Hark! what songs of rapture rise! 

These proclaim the victor's story. 
Soldier, lay thy weapon down; 
Quit the cross and take the crown: 
Triumph! all thy foes are banished; 
Death is slain and earth has vanished. 



468 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE THINGS WHICH ARE 
BEHIND." 

Leave behind earth's empty pleasure, 
Fleeting hope and changeful love; 

Leave its soon-corroding treasure: 
There are better things above. 

Leave, oh, leave thy fond aspirings; 

Bid thy restless heart be still: 
Cease, oh, cease thy vain desirings; 

Only seek thy Father's will. 

Leave behind thy faithless sorrow 
And thine every anxious care; 

He who only knows the morrow 
Can for thee its burden bear. 

Leave behind the doubting spirit 
And thy crushing load of sin; 

By thy mighty Savior's merit, 
Life eternal thou shalt win. 

Leave the darkness gathering o'er thee, 
Leave the shadow-land behind; 

Realms of glory lie before thee; 
Enter in, and welcome find. 

FRANCE.S Ridley Haveeqal. 



CHOSEN IN AFFLICTION. 

Though chosen in the furnace of affliction. 
While trusting God, no evil can betide: 
From ill conies good, when, under his di- 
rection. 
You're passing throu.gh temptations sore, 
and tried. 

From tlireatening clouds oft come refresh- 
ing showers: 
Great calm oft follows tempests trouble- 
some: 
The darkest night oft ends in fairest morn- 
ing: 
From greatest troubles greatest bless- 
ings come. 

From prickly thorns are plucked the sweet- 
est flowers; 
The bitter cold soon purifies the ground: 
The darkest mines produce some precious 
jewels, 
And costly pearls in waters deep are 
found. 

The darkest cloud is trimmed with silver 
lining; 
The sun is shining on the other side: 
'Twill soon peep through; then, what's the 
use repining? 
Cheer up! Remember, Jesus is our Guide. 

God sometimes sends his children s'weet 
love-letters. 
In envelopes with mourning all around; 
The loss of friends makes Jesus seem more 
precious. 
And blessings rare in sorrows deep 
abound. 



As rough winds make the sturdy oak grow 
stronger, 
And drive the roots still deeper in the 
sod; 
.So we, while standing firm, with faith un- 
shaken. 
Are made to settle deeper into God. 

Sweet fruit is often found on bramble- 
bushes, 
■Which grow where hideous reptiles hiss 
and crawl; 
The sweet-brier bush sends forth delicious 
fragrance 
When dewdrops from above upon it fall. 

Let pain and sickness, trials and persecu- 
tions, 
Let storms and floods of accusations, 
come; 
We'll nestle closer to our Great Physician, 
And trust him till we reach our heavenly 
home. 

John E. Robeets. 



FOLLOW ME. 

Follow me; I'll guide thee home, 

Though the road with thorns be strewn; 

In the strait and narrow way 

Naught shall cause thy feet to stray. 

Let thy heart be not dismayed, 

Of the storm be not afraid; 

Peace divine shall compass tliee 

Take tlie cross and follow me. 

Follow me; I'll guide thee home 
Through the mist and gathering gloom; 
Thorns and briers on the way 
Will but teach thy heart to pray. 
Underneath the thorns are seen 
Blossoms sweet, with living green; ■ 
If their beauty then wouklst see. 
Take the cross and follow me. 

Follow me: I'll guide thee home; 
Follow where the blessed have gone. 
Canst thou not behold afar 
From the distant clouds a star 
Beaming bright with hope and cheer? 
Seems to say, "Thy dawn is near"; 
Peaceful shall thy slumber be. 
Take the cross and follow me. 

Follow me; I'll guide thee home 
■Wivere the fadeless lilies bloom. 
Atmosphere ethereal 
Shall thy thirsty bosom fill: 
Then thy grateful heart shall sing 
And some gladsome tribute bring. 
Wealth untold I'll give to thee: 
Take the cross and follow me. 

Follow me; I'll guide thee liome, 
Crown thee when life's work is done. 
Of the jewels thou shalt wear 
One will be supremely fair: 
■When the angel choirs shall sing 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Encouragement, Comfort. 



it>9 



And the heavenly portals ring, 
Thou Shalt chant in serapli tone, 
"Jesus led me safely home. " 

JENNIB Mast. 



THE REAL. 

WTien this little life is over, 

Wlien the short day finds its close, 
And the weary body sleepeth 

In its last profound repose. 
How will seem the tiny sorrows 

That oppressed our being here? 
How will look the trivial interests 

Now so precious and so dear? 

Standing where the life eternal 

Reaches endlessly away, 
^liere no short-lived human anguish 

Clouds the ever-shining day. 
How will seem the petty struggles. 

Follies, rivalries of earth? 
How will look the vain ambitions 

Even now so little worth? 

Listening to the strain harmonious 

That shall never, never end, 
How will seem the causeless discords 

That here parted friend from friend? 
Gazing on tlie wondrous glory 

Filling all the courts of heaven, 
How will look the empty tinsel 

For which countless souls are given? 

Much of love and truth and kindness 

Here is hidden from our sight, 
But all goodness will be garnered 

In "the world that makes this right." 
Wait we yet a little moment, 

Seek we meekly to endure; 
For the end is just before us, 

And the recompense is sure. 

Mbs. H. G. Gabdneh. 



UNFAILING POWER. 

Think not that God deserts the field, 

Though Truth the battle loses; 
But grasp again Faith's sword and shield. 

And follow where he chooses. 
He shrouds himself in dark events; 

Xo mortal eye beholds him; 
And many an adverse providence 

As in a cloud enfolds him. 

We see Truth's foes fast closing round. 

Distrusting her resources; 
Faith fills the teeming battle-ground 

With chariots and with horses; 
And lo, God's standard raises clear 

Amid the smoke and thunder; 
Embattled armies disappear 

Or into fragments sunder. 

The baffled surf ebbs to the sea. 
As though its task forsaking. 



But to return more mightily. 
In greater volumes breaking 

What God has worn shall yet be done. 
No power or man can stay him; 

Upon the seas he plants his throne. 
And all the waves obey him. 

Soldiers of Christ, take heart again; 

Fear not dark portents solemn; 
God moves across tlie battle-plain 

In many an unseen column. 
The very stars of the blue night. 

As they fulfil their courses. 
Shall wheel obedient in the flight. 

And add them to our forces. 



BE STRONG, MY SOUL, IN GOD. 

Be strong, my soul, in God most high. 

And trust his mighty arm: ^ 
The hand that holds the starry sky 

Preserves thee safe from harm; 
He who hath spread the heavens above, 

And earth's foundations laid. 
Walks by thy side, a guide and God, 

And says, "Be not afraid." 

O rest, my soul, in God most high. 

Beneath his sheltering wing; 
While tempests wild go sweeping by. 

Rejoice, my soul, and sing. 
Ha is thy buckler and defense, 

Thy rock, thy strength, and tower; 
And he will be thy confidence 

In each distressing hour. 

Be strong, my soul, in God most high. 

Though helpless, poor, and low: 
The gleaming worlds that stud the sky 

His power and glory show; 
And he whose word a world can form 

Bends low to hear my call; 
He feeds the birds, the grass adorns: 

He is my Friend, my all. 



REMOTE RESULTS. 

T\niere are the countless crystals. 

So perfect and so bright. 
That robed witli softest ermine 
The winter day and night? 
Not lost! for, life to many a root, 
They rise again in flower and fruit. 

Where are the mighty forests 

And giant ferns of old. 
That in primeval silence 

Strange leaf and frond unrolled? 
Not lost! for now they shine and blaze. 
The light and warmth of Christmas daya 

Where are our early lessons. 
The teachings of our youth, 

The countless words forgotten 
Of knowledge and of truth? 



470 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Not lost! for they are living still, 
As power to think, and do, and will. 

Where is the seed we scatter. 

With weak and trembling hand, 
Beside the gloomy waters 
Or on the arid land? 
Not lost! for after many days 
Our prayer and toil shall turn to praise 

Where are the days of sorrow. 
And lonely hours of pain. 



■Wlien work is Interrupted, 

Or planned and willed in vain? 
Not lost! it is the thorniest shoot 
That bears the Master's pleasant fruit. 

'Wliere, where are all God's lessons. 

His teachings dark or bright? 
Not lost! but only hidden. 
Till in eternal light. 
We see, while at his feet we fall. 
The reasons and results of all. 

FBANCB3 RIDLET Hl7iaaiL. 



CHRISTIAN GRACES 



WHAT IS CHARITY? 

It is not the gift ostentation bestows, 

Nor the tear that from sentiment languidly 
flows, 

Nor the cushion that's spread for a pur- 
ple-robed guest, 

Nor bidding the wealthy and proud to a 
feast: 

But ask of the gospel; its pages have said 

It is love to the creatures your Maker has 
made; 

And if in the heart the good tree taketh 
root. 

It will shed o'er the life its most beauti- 
ful fruit. 

'Tts the "little address" in the wiping a 

tear: 
'Tis the whisper of hope in the desolate 

ear; 
"Tis the smile of encouragement given to 

one 
Whom malign degradation had marked 

for her own; 

'Tis the answer that turns away anger and 
wrath ; 

'Tis the hand that strews roses in misery's 
path; 

'Tis the foot that treads softly the cham- 
ber of pain; 

'Tis the gift that the giver expects not 
again; 

'Tis the word that is said in an absent one's 
praise, 

Or to save from dishonor, distrust, or dis- 
grace; 

'Tis the thought that would wound never 
uttered in jest. 

The apology urged, the fault frankly con- 
fessed ; 

'Tis the hiding what others would not wish 
revealed; 

'Tis a friend's secret error forever con- 
cealed: 

And, in every transaction that's open to 
view, 

•Tis to act as you'd wish others acted by 



INNOCENCE. 

[The following beautiful lines give a touching de- 
scription of the author's own experience from child- 
hood innocence into sin. and from sin to full salva- 
tion. The train of shining ones described in the lat- 
ter part of his experience must now be his constant 
companions, since he passed into eternit.v to join the 
heavenly host on Dec. 12, 1S95. ] 

To thee, celestial Innocence, 

I sing my happy song; 
O precious treasure in my breast. 

Thy praise I shall prolong. 

Thy smile of beauty, so divine. 

Is on each infant face; 
In youthful eyes thy brilliant sign. 

The angels love to trace. 

Today my childhood Innocence 
Comes back in sweet review. 

As I in memory retrace 
My years of fifty-two. 

Conceived in sin, to sorrow born. 

Unwelcome here on earth, — 
The shadows of a life forlorn 

Hung gloomy o'er my birth. 

A mother's heart oppressed with grief, 

A father's wicked spleen. 
Who cursed my faint and gasping breath. 

Combine to paint the scene. 

But life held on its tender thread. 

Days unexpected grew 
To weeks, and still he lived. 

Wliy, Heaven only knew. 

He lived, though life was bitter gain. 

His youth a flood of tears. 
His body doomed to cruel pain. 

His mind to nervous fears. 

It seemed the special pleasure of 

Another certain one 
To quite demolish everything 

His heart was set upon; 

To chafe his spirit and extort 

The flow of bitter tears 
Out of a soft and pensive heart, 

Through all his tender years. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Graces. 



471 



If angels blessed his thorny path, 

It may be said in truth, 
But two e'er showed their smiling face 

In all his suffering youth. 

One was his mother, ever kind — 

A blessed providence; 
The other pure and lovely friend 

Was angel Innocence. 

He never knew that "Father" was 

A sweet endearing name; 
Its very mention was a dread, 

His life's most deadly bane. 

The demon of intemperance there 

Infused the wrath of hell. 
And most upon this sickly head 

The storm of fury fell. 

Like chickens when the mother bird 

Gives signal of a foe — 
The little peeps are quickly hushed. 

All chicks are lying low — 

So, when returning from the town. 
The dreaded steps we heard, 

AU ran and quickly settled down. 
And not a lip was stirred. 

O horrors of the liquor fiend! 

We've seen thy hell on earth. 
Thy serpent coils around us twined, 

The moment of our birth. 

O Rum, thy red infernal flame — 

I witness to the truth — 
Filled all my mother's cup with pain. 

And swallowed up my youth. 

But yet. in all tlie wretchedness 

Of those unhappy years, 
The blessing of meek Innocence 

Dropped sweetness in my tears. 

Then suddenly a crisis came 
In this poor, tremblins breast: 

Wliile treading life's poor narrow lane, 
A solemn line I passed. 

Within my bosom there awoke 

A monitor of light; 
Anon I heard it loudly speak, 

"Fear God and do the right " 

Erelong the helpless spirit felt 

An arrow pierce within, 
And then, alas! the sting of guilt 

Came with the dart of sin; 

And sin, the woful monster, brought 

Death as its recompense, 
O sin! O death! ye have despoiled 

My soul of Innocence. 

One angel of my youth was gone: 

Nor was to me the same 
The pleasure of my mother's love. 

Since knowing sin and shame. 



O Innocence! when thou art gone. 

No beauty more is left; 
The lovely smile, the gentle tone, 

All, all that's good is reft. 

The brilliant eye, the rosy cheek. 
The merry laugh that rings. 

The cheerful face, the buoyant step. 
The childish joy that sings, — ■ 

Are all exchanged for haggard mien 
And drooping eyes that show: 

A spirit guilty, and forlorn. 
Has drunk the cup of woe. 

Like roses smitten by the frost. 

So childliood stung by sin. 
Lo! every outward charm is lost. 

And dead the soul within. 

My fettered spirit borne along 

By sin's infernal sway. 
The melancholy of my soul 

Grew darker day by day. 

And folly sowed her cursed seed 
Of pain, remorse, and wrath. 

From which diseases multiplied, 
And hastened on to death. 

As evil habits daily grew. 

They, by Satanic skill. 
Were catenated into chains 

That bound my soul for hell. 

\vretched state! O horrid doom! 
O fate, reverse thy train! 

Return, O time! and bear me back 
To childhood's dream again. 

But why send out my hopeless cry 

"LTpon the empty wind? 
Pure Innocence is gone, and I 

No tranquil rest may find. 

1 stood beside the sea of life — 
So dark and turbulent — 

Where hopes of men by sin are wrecked. 
And heard their sad lament. 

I saw the youth whose restless feet 

By sin had been beguiled: 
And, tired of the empty fraud. 

He wished himself a child. 

I saw the aged sinner writhe 
Beneath the weight of years, 

Alarmed by death's approaching scythe, 
And judgment's awful fears. 

He ventured once to cast an eye 
Back o'er the road he'd past. 

And saw himself an infant lie 
Upon his mother's breast. 

Then in his grief he cried aloud, 
"Oh, that some angel would 

Lend me his wings to fly away. 
Back to my sweet childhood! 



472 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"Yea, would to God my life throughout 
An empty dream might prove, 

And I could wake a child once more, 
And taste a mother's love! 

"Lo! I have slept, and now awake — 
But not to pleasant scenes. 

I wake, alas! I fear too late. 
From sin's delusive dreams." 

And in that sea of gloomy clouds, 

Where curses rend the air, 
And every cry the billows mock 

In echoes of despair, 

I saw some poets lonely sit 

In barks of unbelief: 
Their lives, consumed in sin and wit. 

Were "in the yellow leaf." 

Their harps unstrung, lay silent by; 

In sober thought they prize 
Life's moments, when about to die, 

And thus soliloquize: 

"I would I were a careless child. 
Still dwelling in my highland cave. 

"Few are my years and yet I feel 

The world was ne'er designed for me: 
Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal 

The hour when man must cease to be" 
Once I beheld a splendid dream, 

A visionary scene of bliss: 
Truth! — wherefore did thy hated beam 

Awake me to a world like this? 

"Fain would I fly the haunts of men — 
I seek to shun, not hate mankind — 
My breast requires the sullen glen, 
Whose gloom may suit a darkened 
mind. 
Oh, that to me the wings were given 
Which bear the turtle to her nest! 
Then would I cleave the vault of heaven. 
And flee away, and be at rest. 

"I strive to number o'er what days 

Remembrance can discover, 
■Which all that life or earth displays 

Would lure me to live over. 
There rose no day, there rolled no hour 

Of pleasure unembittered: 
And not a trapping decked my body. 

That galled not while It glittered. 

"The serpent of the field, by art 

And speiis, is won from harming: 
But that which coils around the heart — 

Oh! who hath power of charming? 
It will not list to wisdom's lore. 

Nor music's voice can re it; 
But there it stings forevermore 

The soul that must endure it." • 

■WTiat dismal darkness shrouds the scene 
Of this great lorded bard! 



• Lord Byron. 



Life, once to him a blissful dream, 
Did no sweet hour afford. 

Hear this, O ye in dewy morn; 

It tells what all have told 
Who made the fool's experiment 

Of life for fame or gold. 

Fain would the poet soar to rest. 

But whither shall he fly? 
All heaven, hell, earth, and ocean's 
breast. 

Lie open to God's eye. 

His mind and soul were fed on sin, 

His body, toast and tea. 
And on tobacco, wine, and gin: 

The sequel — misery. 

Does not the Holy Book declare 
That days and years will come 

In which no peaceful pleasures are. 
If men in sin will roam? 

Yea, heaven, earth, and hell agree 

That sin and woe unite, 
While pleasure only walks with him 

Who walks in heaven's light. 

I turn to hear a poetess, 
■VMio pictured thus her life: 

"At rosy dawn I left, elate 

With thoughtless joy and pride. 
Afar thy golden palace gate 
That swung in music, wide. 

"O Father! wandering far from home. 
Lone, weary, lost, astray, 
In dim and tangled paths I roam; 
I can not find the way. 

"And now 'tis noon, and wierd, wild clouds 
Are gathering in the sky. 
Terrific thunder rolls around. 
The storm goes sweeping by. 

"The flowers I found at early morn 
Are witliered in my hand: 
I hear a gliding serpent hiss; 
In doubt and dread I stand. 

"The seraph shapes that walked with me 
At sunrise, all have fled; 
The birdlike hopes that flew before 
On starry wings are dead." • 

Thus, up and down the strand of life 

I hear the common wail. 
Of sickening hearts and bla.=ted hopes 

On all their stormy sail. 

And all confessed their day most blessed 
In childhood, sweet and pure: 

And they would fain have steered their 
bark 
Back to that blissful shore. 



• Frances S. Osgood. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— ChrisUan Graces. 



473 



But if a glimmering hope appeared 

Of childhood's sacred bliss, 
'Twas only in some future world 

Far, far away from this. 

Or, if on earth that peaceful reign, 

By many 'twas inferred. 
That to some dreamed-of coming age. 

It was to be deferred. 

I saw a woman lonely sit 

Where ocean billows die: 
Her eyes were peering o'er the deep. 

And this her hopeless cry: 

"Backward, turn backward, O Time, in 

your flight. 
Make me a child again. Just for tonight! 
Mother, come back from the echoless 

shore. 
Take me again to your heart as of yore: 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of 

care. 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my 

hair; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch 

keep; 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to 

sleepi 

"Backward, flow backward, O tide of the 

years! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears — 
Toil without recompense, tears all in 

vain^ 
Take them, and give me my childhood 

again! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay — 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away: 
Weary of sowing for others to reap: 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to 

sleep! 

"Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue. 
Mother, O mother my heart calls for you! 
Many a summer the grass has grown 

green. 
Blossomed, and faded our faces between. 
Yet with strong yearning and passionate 

pain 
Long I tonight for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so long and so 

deep; 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to 

sleep!" • 

But winds and waves swept heedless on; 

The elements were dumb: 
Nor did the wheels of time reverse. 

And back to childhood run. 

I closed my eyes upon the scene, 
And heaved a' pensive sigh: 

I turned my gloomy thought within: 
Lord, what, and where am I? 

Must human life within this vale. 
Be ever sad and drear? 



* Elizabeth Akers Allen. 



Must inward longings ever fail? 
And hope resign to fear? 

The cry of hearts, the poet's pen. 

The wisdom of this earth. 
The voice of pujplt hireling. 

All leave my soul in dearth. 

Consumption preys upon my lungs. 

Remorse upon my soul; 
Despair now whispers, "Suicide" 

But hark! sweet anthems roll. 

[Singing in the distance.] 
"There's an angel of mercy from heaven 
And he stands at the door of thy heart, 
Long awaiting thy will to admit him, 
Full salvation and love to Impart. 

Chorus. 

"Will you open your heart to the Savior 

He will enter and bless you today; 

He will save you, and keep you forever. 

Sinner, turn not this angel away. 

"There is darkness, poor sinner, and sor- 
row. 
Overcasting thy temple of clay; 
Lo! the angel, sweet angel of glory. 
Shining in thee will turn it to day. 

"In thy bosom Is thirsting and hunger; 
The dear angel has come to supply: 
Break the seal of thy heart and no 
longer 
Bar him out, and thou famish and die. 

"Oh, the meekness and love of this an- 
gel. 
Long rejected and treated with shame. 
As he listens to hear tliee invite him! 
Lo! his name is but spoken in vain. 

"Xot forever (O sinner, take warning!) 
■V\'ill the merci' of heaven forbear: 
Grieved and slighted, the Spirit depart- 
ing. 
Leaves thee bound In the chains of 
despair." 

Was that a song of angels pure? 

Have they returned once more? 
And did they chant those notes for me. 

One so sin-sick and sore? 

Oh, could I hear them sing once more! 

Even that angel sweet 
That in my childhood hovered o'er 

The pathway of my fe 

[Singing in the distance.] 
"There's mercy, poor sinner, for thee. 
And Jesus will banish thy gloom; 
Salvation is offered so free: 

All heaven invites thee to come. 

Chorua. 
"Oh. come, will you come to the Lord? 
Will you come and be saved in Jesus' 
blood? 



474 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Will you come? will you come and be 
free? 
Oh, the Savior so kindly calleth thee! 

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful love, 

That Jesus has suffered and died! 
And now ha is pleading above; 
Oh, come to the once Crucified! 

"Lo! Jesus, thy Savior and Friend, 

Now stands at the door of tliy heart, 
So gentle, so loving and kind; 

Admit him, lest, grieved, he depart. 

"Oh, welcome the Savior to form 
His kingdom of glory within! 
He'll enter thy bosom to reign. 
And banish all sorrow and sin." 

O angel of mercy and love, 

Thy beauty on me shine: 
Bring Innocence down from above: 

Come, take this heart of mine. 

But ah! there's something in my breast, 

I know not what to call; 
It chides me for my wickedness. 

It makes my sin as gall. 

[Singing in the distance.] 
"In the chambers of thy bosom 
Lives a faithful monitor, 
Keeping vigil for thy freedom, 
Bidding thee all sin abhor. 

Chorus. 
"Come, poor sinner, lost and sighing; 
Do obey that inner voice. 
Hark! it tells of Jesus' dying; 
Make his love thy holy choice. 

"In thy heart. O wretched sinner. 
Heaven placed that sentinel. 
Thee to guard and keep forever 
From tlie awful road to hell. 

"See the precious blood of Jesus! 
It will purge thy conscience pure; 
Then, in Heaven's sweet approval. 
Peace will flow foreverraore. 

"Oh, remember thou art sinning 
'Gainst the very love of God! 
Hence thy guilty conscience, stinging. 
Smites thee with an angry rod. 

"Louder, louder, conscience crying. 
Suffers not thy soul to rest; 
Nearer, nearer, comes thy dying — 
Can you face the solemn test? 

"Hope will end, but conscience never; 
With thy spirit it will fly. 
Tea, torment, and chide thee ever. 
Where the worm shall never die." 

Oh, gracious light from heaven's throne! 

Oh, tidings of great joy! 
The rod that's laid upon my sin 

Would save, and not destroy. 



Now as my soul swayed to and fro. 
Mid .gleams of hope and fear, 

I raised my drooping eyes, and lo! 
A palace stood me near. 

And round about the sacred door 

Celestial beings throng; 
And humble hearts they welcome there. 

Hark! 'tis their gracious song. 

[Singing in the distance.] 
"O'er the door of heaven's kingdom 
Are the words forever true, 
'If ye knock it shall be open' — - 
Open, sinner, yes, to you. 

Chorua. 
"Then, sinner, come! Oh, do not delay! 
Knock at the door of salvation today: 
Though guilty and lost, 'twill open for 

thee: 
In Jesus you're welcome: oh, come and 
be free! 

"Oh, how kind this proclamation 
To the vilest sinner lost! 
Perfect, free, and full salvation, 
Purchased at a boundless cost. 

"See the notice — 'WTiosoever 

That will knock may enter in,' 
Will you now accept the offer. 
Casting off thy load of sin? 

"Come, poor sinner, read the writing. 
Knock at mercy's door today: 
Hear the love of God inviting: 
Come and enter while you maj'," 

I looked again, and now there stood 

The awful passion scene: 
Adown the cross I saw the blood. 

And cried, "Oh, wash mo clean!" 

And there, high arching o'er the cross. 

In lines of burnished gold, 
My spirit saw these gracious words 

Of love and hope unfold: 

"There are some rays of hope divine 
To cheer the darkest heart; 
Around the cross they ever shine. 
Where life anew may start. 

"Despondent soul, can you not see 
Hope gleaming from above? 

Oh, look once more to Calvary, 
And know that God is love! 

"Though shame and guilt oppress thy soul. 
Thy heart a.^ adamant. 
Yet Jesus will thy name enroll. 
If thou wilt but repent. 

"Thy life of sin now weighs thee down. 
And death and hell are near; 

But heaven wills thee yet a crown. 
And angels want thee there. 

"O guilty one. though bound in chains 
Of dark infernal power. 



POEMS OF RELIGION^Christian Graces. 



475 



The grace of God supremely rei&ns 

To save you in this hour." 
I sink by love o'ercome. 

[Sit down and solemnly soliloquize] 
"There is a story I often must ponder, 
When all alone it comes over my mind; 
'Tis of that Stranger, that heavenly Won- 
der, 
Who, in compassion, came seeking man- 
kind. 

"Why come from heaven, and travail in 

sorrow ? 

Why bear our burden of sin on thy 

cross? 

Did he not see us all hopeless forever, 

Bound to destruction and infinite loss? 

"Did he not surely intend to redeem us? 
Did not the Innocent suffer alone? 
Is he not able? Wiiat perfect assurance 
In that he conquered death, hell, and 
the tomb! 

"Is he yet willing my soul to deliver — 
My guilty soul that is hardened in 
years? 
Truly, his Spirit yet follows me ever: 
Friend of the sinner, come, banish my 
fears. 

"I am a stranger to comfort and mercy; 
In the dark valley of death I am bound: 
Come, Mighty Angel! oh, come and re- 
lease me! 
Save the poor sinner thy Spirit has 
found. 

Chorus. 
"Lonely, dear Jesus, lonely I ponder, 
Over my sins and a future of woe: 
Yet thou art calling; O Lord, I surren- 
der. 
Jesus, tliy love and thy mercy bestow." 

'Twas done! The heavens opened there. 

And Mercy spoke my soul 
Redeemed from sin and dark despair — 

Free, free from hell's control. 

A train of shining ones received 

My soul in sweet embrace: 
First Jesus came, when I believed. 

And showed his smiling face; 

Then Pity, Mercy, and Content, 

So gentle, pure, divine. 
Drew near and meekly o'er me bent. 

And whispered, "Life is tliine." 

Grace came — a strong majestic queen; 

I leaned upon her breast. 
And there, with weeping eyes, my soul 

Her debt of love confessed. 

She smiled, and wiped away my tears, 
Thus sang, "It shall be well 

With thee throughout thy mortal years: 
For in thy heart I dwell." 



Then Peace — oh, tranquil, lovely form! — 

Came quickly by my side; 
Sang, "Wliile my sisters grace thy home 

I will in tliee abide." 

Then came a bliss-inspiring form 

On wings of ecstasy; 
She glowed and sparkled ."s the morn. 

And thus she sang to me: 

"When Heaven chose his ministers. 
He gave uie this employ; 
To feast and ravish souls of men; 
And so they call me Joy." 

And next my eyes were fixed upon 

One gentle and sedate: 
Exquisite beauty graced her form; 

Though small, her gifts were great. 

She spoke in soft and melting tones; 

She wept; and lo! I saw 
A thousand rainbows in her tears. 

That filled my soul with awe. 

She laid her hand upon my head. 

While at her feet I bowed; 
And never will my heart forget. 

The words: "Oh, be not proud! 

"Ask what ye will from heaven's store; 

Yea! thou shalt hold the key. 
If I may keep thy bosom door. 

My name — Humility. 

"And sister Meekness is my twin. 

These fair ones — Charity, 
Hope, Gentleness, and Love divine — 

All come to dwell with thee" 

And now I turned my eyes within. 
And lo! there sat on throne 

The same sweet angel, Innocence, 
I had in childhood known. 

She came so softly in the train. 
Came and resumed her place; 

Amid the raptures of the scene, 
I scarce perceived her grace. 

O Innocence! my heart o'erflows! 

Hast thou returned at last? 
Oh, pardon me for all the foes 

That drove thee from my breast! 

Oh! can it he my soul is free 
From guilt, thy dread converse? 

And for my ill, dost thou to me 
My soul with love amerce? 

blissful sense! I know the© -well; 
Thou hast indeed returned. 

Thou dost the poet's dream excel. 
'Who for thy sweetness yearned. 

1 am once more a childi. Tis true; 
This is no fancy dream. 

"Neath Heaven's smile I launch anew 
On life's pure crystal stream. 



476 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Today I look without remorse 

Up in ray Father's face. 
And feel as free as first I smiled 

In niother's fond embrace. 

Ab free from consciousness of sin 

As angels in their sphere, 
Who never felt the cursed sting. 

Nor shed one -bitter tear. 

And, looking back on life's career. 
All, all is 'neath the blood. 

And then I hear sweet Innocence 
Sing out her praise to God. 

The future, too, has no appal; 

The awful judgment-day 
Bright Innocence awaits with joy. 

And sings the time away. 

And when I cast my eyes to heaven. 
No shame can paint a blush. 

The angels shout, "A soul forgiven," 
But thoughts of sin all hush. 

A new-born soul, I stand and gaze 

W^th rapture and delight. 
Amid a new creation, filled 

With beams of sacred light; 

For He that sits upon the throne 
Declares, "I make all new": 

New heavens and earth I find: 
In Christ it all is true. 

Within my lieart where dragons lay, 

Now angel graces sing: 
And Innocence has come to stay. 

Since Jesus is my King. 

Damiei. S. Warnbe. 



MERCY. 

The quality of mercy is not strained; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that 

takes. 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his 

crown: 
His scepter shows the force of temporal 

power 
The attribute to awe and majesty. 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of 

kings; 
But mercy is above this sceptered sway; 
It Is enthroned in the hearts of kings; 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest 

God's 
When mercy seasons justice Therefore. 

Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, 
That in the course of justice none of us 
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy: 
And that -same prayer should teach us all 

to render 
The deeds of mercy. 

William Shakespeare. 



PRACTICAL CHARITY. 

An ardent spirit dwells with Christian 

love — ' 
The eagle's vigor in the pitying dove: 
'Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh. 
That we the wants of pleading man sup- 
ply. 
That we in sympathy with sufferers feel. 
Nor hear a grief without a wish to heal — 
Not these suffice; to sickness, pain, and 

woe 
The Christian spirit loves with aid to go; 
Will not be sought, waits not for want to 

plead, 
But seeks the duty, nay, prevents the need; 
Her utmost aid to every ill applies, 
And plants relief for coming miseries. 

GEoRaa Cbabbi. 



WHAT FAITH DOES. 

Faith does not dwell in fancy's dream 

Nor in the gloomy maze; 
Faith lives beside the flowing stream 

Where victors take their ease. 
Faith gropes not in secluded night. 

In doubtful regions wild; 
"Faith is the victory, lost in sight," 

Sings God's obedient child. 
Faith mounts the hills of trouble here. 

And soars above the clouds; 
Faith drives away each slavish fear, 

And lifts the mourner's shroud. 
Faith sweeps the barricades of wrong, 

Bombards them left and right; 
Faith is the victor's conquering son;^. 

Amid the hottest fight. 
Faith brings triumphant through the fire, 

The soul that will abide; 
Faith warms our soul with good desire, 

Though we be greatly tried. 
Faith plows the tossing sea of life. 

And strikes the other shore; 
Faith walks amid the raging strife, 

Now as in days of yore. 
Faith raises valleys, lowers hills. 

Faith spans the chasm wide; 
Faitli makes a way where none is seen. 

And crosses o'er the tide. 
Faith climbs the peaks and reaches God, 

Above the stormy sky; 
Faith sees the sunny side of life, 

And wings the soul on high. 
Faith passes on witli steady tread. 

Mid coldness, scoffs, and jeers; 
Faith takes the pathway Jesus led, 

Though thronged with joys or tears. 
Faith, like a rock, stands firm and sure. 

While things around may change: 
Faith "counts those happy who endure." 

Though pil.grims here and strange. 
Faith like a pillar stands the test, 

Willie shaky things shall fall; 
Faith clings the closer to God's Word, 

For he is all in all. 
Faith peers throurrh disappointed hope, 

And rests in peaceful trust; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Graces. 



477 



Faith into darkness does not grope; 

It conquers, yea, and must. 
Faith overcomes the world around. 

And quenches fiery darts; 
Faith is the shield that will sujround 

Devoted Christian hearts. 
Faith never stumbles, never falls; 

Faith never fails or doubts. 
Faith builds those unsurmounted walls 

Of great salvation; shouts 
Eternal victory o'er the foe, 

By heaven's power and grace. 
Faith links the soul to God, we know; 

Unveils his smiling face. 
Faith is the key that opens wide 

His treasured store to all; 
Faith brings those wanted riches nigh 

To those who simply call. 
Faith coolly weighs life's issues great. 

And counts the final cost; 
Faith glories in its rich estate. 

If all on earth were lost. 
Faith walks the narrow way alone. 

And never does complain; 
Faith In Christ's blood doth now atone 

For every sinful stain. 
Faith counts the fancied feelings chaff, 

T\'hich ebbing tides control; 
T\Tiile it leans on the golden staff 

Of Truth, which saves the soul. 

B. E. Wabben. 



CHARITY. 

Could I command, with voice or pen, 

The tongues of angels and of men, 

A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass. 

My speech and preaching would surpass; 

Vain were such eloquence to me 

Without the grace of charity. 

Could I the martyr's flame endure. 
Give all my goods to feed the poor; 
Had I the faith from Alpine steep 
To hurl the mountain to the deep, — 
■What were such zeal, such power, to me, 
■Without the grace of charity? 

Could I behold with prescient eye 
Things future, as the things gone by: 
Could I all earthly knowledge scan. 
And mete out heaven with a span, — 
Poor were the chief of gifts to me 
Without the chiefcst — charity. 

Charity suffers long, is kind; 
Charity bears a humble mind, 
Rejoices not when ills befall, 
But glories in the weal of all; 
She hopes, believes, and envies not. 
Nor vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot. 

The tongues of teachers shall be dumb: 
Prophets discern not things to come; 
Knowledge shall vanish out of thought. 
And miracles no more be wrought; 
But charity shall never fail — 
Her anchor is within the veil. 

James Montgobcbbt. 



HUMILITY. 

Humility, O grace so sweet! 

Come sit upon my heart; 
Oh! press me to my Savior's feet. 

There lowliness impart. 

Come softly from the throne above, 

O grace so sweet and fair; 
Come touch my lieart in gentle love. 
And scatter meekness there. 

Humility, in Christ complete, 
1 court thy pleasant ways; 

"A lowly place at Jesus' feet," 
My heart with longing prays. 

O angel sweet — Humility! 

Thy fragrance fills the air; 
Where'er tny glorious presence be. 

Sweet odor lingers there. 

Down, down my lieart to nothingness, 
Down, down to lowly planes; 

Then up, far up .n joyfulness. 
My soul in glory reigns. 

heaven's grace, I love thee true; 
By grace thy charms I'll wear. 

1 must be uumble. Lord, like thee. 
Thy holy image bear. 

O Lord, to be and live like tliee 
Down in this world of sin. 

With humble heart and lowly ways. 
Shall be my constant aim. 

Chables E. Obb. 



FAITH. ' 

Great God! who worlds in being flings 

And from dark chaos order brings, 

To thee, thou "high and lofty One," 

Eternal Fatlier, Spirit, Son, 

My heart in grateful homage bends. 

While prayer like incense sweet ascends. 

Up to thy throne, where, waiting, stand 

A bright angelic eager band, 

Wliose highest joy thy will to learn 

And swift as thought that will perform: 

And can it be that ear like thine 

Will hear such faltering words as mine? 

I blush, to thee so vile a thing 

As my poor iieart an offering bring: 

Yet none, dear Lord, thy grace more neede. 

And none more hopeless mercy pleads. 

Oh, smite not thou with anger's rod 

This helpless, worthless worm, O God! 

N^ay, nay, my soul! the love that speaks 
To thee from Calvary's rugged steeps, 
Bids faith "mount up on eagles' wings" 
And claim the promise that it brings — 
"If thou, on Christ, my Son, believe. 
Thou Shalt through endless ages live!" 

Anna K. Thomas. 



478 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



CHARITY. 

1 Corinthians 13. 

Though I should speak till men exclaim, 

"An orator witli sliver tongue!" 
Or yet with voice of angel sing- 

Wliat hath by angel band been sung, 
'Twould only fall as sounding brass, 

Or as a tinkling cymbal be; 
No profit 'twould administer 

if I be void of charity. 

Though gift of prophecy I have 

®r knowledge all at my command. 
Should give my body to be burned, 

All mystery should understand; 
Or through my faith should mountains move, 

And I my goods bestow so free 
To feed the poor, I've no reward 

Unless I'm filled with charity — 

The charity that suffers long. 

That envies not, is ever kind. 
'Tis never known to vaunt itself 

Or be puffed up within its mind; 
It ne'er unseemly doth behave. 

Is not provoked so easily. 
Seeks not her own, no evil thinks. 

O soul, be filled with charity! 

It e'er rejoices in the truth. 

But never in iniquity; 
'Twill bear all things, all things believe. 

Endure all things and hopeful be. 
Though knowledge come and pass away. 

And finished be all prophecy, 
■When tongues shall cease, one thing re- 
mains, 

That never fails — 'tis charity. 

"And abideth faith," which rides 

Like fearless monarch on the flood, 
WTilch bears each humble prayer above 

That moves the mighty heart of God; 
"And hope" — an anchor of the soul. 

Both sure and steadfast. Can it be 
Tliere's something greater yet than these? 

Yes — 'tis unfailing charity. 

Eta M. WRiT. 



LOVE INDESTRUCTIBLE. 

They sin who tell us love can die: 
With life all other passions fly; 

All others are but vanity. 
In heaven ambition can not dwell. 
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; 
Earthly these passions of the earth: 
They perish where they have their birth. 

But love is indestructible. 
Its holy flame forever burneth; 
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; 
Too oft on earth a troubled guest. 
At times deceived, at times oppressed. 

It here is tried and purified, 
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest; 
It .soweth here in toil and care, 
But the harvest-time of love is there. 
O^! when a mother meets on high 



The babe she lost in infancy. 

Hath she not then, for pains and fears. 

The day of woe, the watchful night, 
For all her sorrows, all her tears. 

An overpayment of delight? 

Robert Sodthei. 



HUMILITY. 



There is a grace few mortals find, 
A star all heaven loves to see; 

It is a meek and lowly mind. 
The gem of pure humility. 

No ornament on earth so rare. 
No jewel in all heavens' mart. 

Can beautify a soul so fair 
As deep humility of heart. 

O God, hath e'er thy balance weighed 
A jewel so sublimely sweet 

As that pure life that's ever laid 
All humbly down at Jesus' feet? 

All earthly crowns shall turn to mold, 
All glittering pride and vanity; 

But meekness decks the soul with gold 
That shines through all eternity. 

Within my hidden man, dear Lord, 
That priceless ornament bestow, 

The sweetest gift in all tlie world; 
O Jesus, keep me meek and low. 

DiNiaL S. Waenbb. 



A PRECIOUS GEM. 

There is a rare and sparkling gem 

Not seen in many places; 
Because the thoughtless pass it by 
With reckless step and blinded eye: 
They fail this little charm to spy — 

"One of the Christian graces." 

This precious gem so seldom seen 
Makes deep and lasting traces; 
'Tis better than the finest gold, 
And for the same was never sold: 
It's worth is better felt than told — 
"This king of Christian graces." 

Tou ask me where tliis gem is found. 

'Tis found in heavenly places; 
"Not in the lofty steepled hall, 
Wliere mystic Babel's utter fall 
Is plainly written on the wall," 

Instead of Christian graces. 

"Where, then?" I hear you ask again. 

Look in secluded places: 
Methinks you'll find the very kind. 
With other graces still behind. 
Helps for the poor, the weak, and blind. 

In honest hearts and faces. 

As you take time to solve this rhyme. 
Tour mind my secret traces; 



POEMS OF RELIGION^Christian Graces. 



479 



"For patience is the gem so rare. 
In Jesus you will find a share; 
Oh, trust his loving, tender care," 

And prove his lasting graces! 

EMM,\ I. COSTON. 



HOPE. 

Eternal Hope! \A'hen yonder spheres sub- 
lime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march 

of time, 
Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade: 
^Vhen all the sister planets have decayed, 
When wrapped in fire the realms of ether 

glow 
And heaven's last thunder shakes the earth 

below. 
Thou undismayed shall o'er the ruins smile. 
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile. 



WHAT IS PEACE? 

A rest wherein all discords cease 
And tranquil joys with love increase; 
A concord of God's will and mine, 
"Where he bears rule and I resign; 
Cessation of all worldly' strife; 
Tile product of a holy life. 

A conscience like the cloudless sky 
When to tlie west tlie sun draws nigh 
And streams of golden glory cast, 
Without a shadow on the past; 
For all my wrongs, tliough like a flood, 
W«re swallowed up in Jesus' blood. 

O peace, sweet peace! serene and mild. 
Without a single sin beguiled, 
Allaying sorrows, soothing pains. 
And mailing all the losses gains; 
Sweet thy temper, calm thy voice; 
Of blessings all thou art my choice. 

R. L. Austin. 



FAITH. 

Need yet an heir of heaven blush to own 
Allegiance to the universal throne? 
Misgive himself in setting to his seal 
That God is true and that his works reveal 
That he is love and tender sympathy? 
While all his attributes in harmony. 
Invite the struggling human heart to rest 
From all its fears and cares upon his breast? 
In htm the just shall live by faith secure; 
The holy Book of Truth, divinely sure. 
The basis of his everlasting trust. 

And yet the skeptic lifts his haughty crest, 
.And flings this taunt agrainst the Christian's 

shield: 
"Tour faith Is naught but superstition's 

yield. 
In all the range of human thought around 



Hatli such a tiling as faith nowhere been 

found. 
Save in religion's dark and mystic sphere, 
WHiere manhood yields to superstitious fear. 
And only he who chanced to have the gift 
Of blind credulity can ever lift 
The vail and enter faith's domain, obscure. 
And that by reason's ut forfeiture. 
'Tis mental imbecility to act 
On propositions not by knowledge backed; 
And he's incautiously unwise and lame 
■\\Tio takes as truth, and ventures on the 

same. 
Before it's demonstrated, proved, and 

known. 
Or if not knowledge, then at least the 

source 
Of faith should be an overwhelming force 
Of evidence, to so preponderate 
The mind, compelling faith's inalternate. 
Since faith comes by the gist of evidence, 
"Where it is clearly in preponderance. 
Faith must insure involuntarily. 
But men in general, with impunity. 
Have always set aside tlie Bible's claim; 
Hence its supporting evidence is lame. 
Or otherwise all men were forced to yield 
Subjection to it, as from God revealed." 

Such paralogy and deceptive lore. 

Some babblers, by false doctrine blind, 

adore. 
But they are sin-born philosophic lies. 
Soul-bane, in cloak of logical disguise. 

"WHAT IS FAITH? 

What, then, is couched within that won- 
drous word 
"Which opens all the treasures of the Lord, 
Appropriates an endless life of bliss. 
Endows the soul, in worlds to come, and 

this, 
'\A"ith virtue, glory, honor, endless peace. 
And from all sin and woe its sure release? 
Does she, the channel of such special good. 
All definitions here on earth elude? 
Nay, Faith does not in superstition grope; 
But she's the "substance of the things we 

hope," 
"The evidence of things we do not see," 
O'er earth and sin and hell our victory. 
The Faith we sing is no sucli stupid thing 
That her warm hands of love no trophies 

bring 
The bosom of her friends who give her 

place. 
Oh, blessed is that heart lit by her face! 
Faith's not blind, but, blessed with gener- 
ous eyes. 
Beholds and chooses out life's highest prize. 
Nor deaf. The music of eternal spheres 
Floats down with inspiration on her ears. 
And well she hears the glorious gospel 

sound, 
Pronouncing all its truth the solid ground. 
She hath feet; hence by faith the soul can 

walk. 
Nor should on stilted feelings try to stalk, 
Nor soar on wings of ecstasy around. 



480 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Without thy feet of faith upon the ground 
Of truth, the sure foundation, broad and 

high: 
Adrift from trutli, thou and thy faith must 

die. 

Faith hath life. By her life the just shall 

live: 
She only hath eternal life to give. 
As hath the Father life upon the throne, 
So hath he freely given to the Son, 
Who to Faith exclusively confined 
His life, but through her wills it all man- 
kind. 

Faith Is not dumb; she hath a mighty voice: 
Her music on earth is Heaven's first choice. 
Lo, she speaketh! "Faith speaketh on this 

wise; 
'Say not in thy heart. Who'll ascend the 

skies, 
That is, to bring Jesus down from the 

throne; 
Or, Who in the deep for us will go down. 
That's to bring up Christ again from the 

dead.' " 
But these are the words kind Faith hath 

said: 
"I am nigh thee now — so freely believe — 
Yea, in thy mouth and thy heart, to give 
Life, eternal life, by thy confession. 
And thy heart believing, to salvation." 

Long arms hath faith, and hands omnipo- 
tent, 

And their might to the humble soul is lent. 

Ah! sin hath palsied all the strength, our 
own; 

No hand can we lift unto Mercy's throne. 

But saith angel Faith: "I'll be arms for 
thee; 

Thy will and my strong hand shall set thee 
free. 

My arm I will stretch far up to heaven. 

And touch the blood that speaks thy sirs 
forgiven 

Take to thy soul my hand, and by it grasp 

The gift — eternal life — and so hold fast 

The profession of thy faith evermore; 

And nc sin shall henceforth thy life ob- 
scure. 

My hand hath access to the Book of God, 

And I'll write thy name with the 'precious 
blood' 

On the family roll of the sons of light. 

And I'll hand thee down a robe ever white." 

"Now behold by Faith's all-sweeping vision, 

In the center of Love's constellation, 

A star of beauty and effulgence shine. 

By my hand you may pluck, and call it 
thine. 

Unlike the moon's pale beams that soon 
must wane, 

'Tis an endless sun in the soul of man. 

Its name thy joyful heart and tongue con- 
fess — ■ 

The glory and 'beauty of holiness.' 

"Doth not," saith Faith, "thy unmalled 
breast expose 



Thy soul to all the daggers of thy foes? 
Behold! I bring thee an armor. Put on 
The breastplate of Faith and Love, and be 

strong. 
Above all, take the shield of Faith, whereby 
All the legions of hell thou canst defy; 
Thou Shalt be able to quench every dart 
The wicked in wrath may shoot at thy 

heart. 

"I, too," Faith sings, "am the root of thy 

joy. 
A constant source of rest naught can de- 
stroy. 
Emotional joy may rise and may fall, 
Our feeling transported, or feel not at all. 
The comforts of hope all brilliant and high. 
Or clouds so somber o'ersweeping our sky: 
Every joy of the heart its changes hath. 
But the sweet, immutable Joy of Faith." 
It is based on the Rock of Ages firm. 
Which ne'er can take a fluctuating turn; 
And as Truth never rises and falls amain. 
The faith that is on it must stand the 

same. 
And the joys of that faith fore'er endure. 
As the faitli Itself and its ground are sure. 

So Faith, to our soul, is our ears and eyes. 
Our hands and our arms, that reach to the 

skies 
And pluck from the beautiful tree of life. 
Our shield of protection amid tie strife. 
We believe and therefore we speak the same 
So its spirit is testimony's flame. 
O precious angel. Faith! our joy complete! 
Ever dwell in our heart, strong, pure, and 

sweet. 

DlNIIL S. Waiinii. 



INNOCENCE. 

Sweet Innocence, thou heavenly grace, 

Rich gem from God above; 

Thy touch upon the human face 

Is naught but peace and love. 

A treasure richer far than gold, 

A gift of greatest worth; 
Thy form all nature would behold 

Except for sinful dearth. 

We look for thee within the maid, 
■^'ith beauty, grace, and charm, 

But flnd thy flight she hath not stayed. 
Nor doth she feel alarm. 

Then in the lad, whose noble brow 
Thy presence might suggest; 

On closer view, we must allow 
By thee he is not blest. 

E'en when we look within the child, 

And laud his .graces sweet. 
We find his mind so soon defiled, 

That 'tis no fit retreat. 

But thou, sweet grace, we flnd in some- 
Thank God, thou art not lost! — 



POEMS OF EELIGION— The Church. 



481 



We see thee in the Christian home 
As royal prince and host. 



HOPE. 

AH nature ministers to Hope. The snow 
Of sluggard winter, bedded on the hill. 
And the small tinkle of the frozen rill, 
The swollen flood's roar, the storms that go 
With crasli and howl and horrid voice of 

woe. 
Making swift passage for their lawless 

will- 



All prophesy of good. The hungry trill 

Of the lone birdie cowering close below 

The dripping eaves — it hath a kindly feel- 
ing. 

And cheers the life that lives for milder 
hours. 

AATiy, then, since nature still is busy heal- 
ing. 

And Time, the master, his own work con- 
cealing. 

Decks every grave with verdure and with 
flowers, — ■ 

"Wliy should despair oppress immortal pow- 
ers? 

Hartlbt Coleridgb. 



THE CHURCH. 



ARISE AND SHINE, O ZION. 

Isaiah 60. 

Arise and shine, O Zion, 
Thou chosen of the Lord! 

Thy Maker beams upon thee; 
He is thy great reward. 

The earth Is wrapped in darkness. 

But thou art all aglow; 
Down from the throne of glory 

The light on thee doth flow. 

The beauty of the morning 

Is on thy snowy brow; 
The Bridegroom doth adorn thee; 

His great delight art thou. 

Thy children flow together 
From nations far and wide; 

By God himself united, 
May nothing e'er divide! 

Thy door Is ever open; 

A welcome home awaits 
The travel-weary pilgrim 

Who knocketh at thy gates. 

The nation and the kingdom 
That will not serve thee well 

Shall utterly be wasted, 

So none their place can tell. 

Though once despised and hated, 

Thy excellence divine 
Shall make the nations praise thee; 

Eternal joy is thine. 

Within thy walls — salvation — 
Where glad hosannas swell. 

With lips all filled with praises, 
The holy only dwell. 

Thy sun shall shine forever, 
Thy moon shall wane no more; 

For thine is light that cometh 
From God's eternal store. 

Arise and shine, O Zion, 
Thou chosen of the Lord! 



Thy Maker beams upon thee; 
He is thy great reward. 

ROBEBT ROTHMAN. 



THE CHURCH HAS ONE FOUNDA- 
TION. 

[Thla tiynm, by Samuel Stone (1866). bas be«n 
revised and enlarged by O. W. Naylor. ] 

The church has one foundation; 

'Tis Jesus Christ her Lord. 
She is his new creation, 

Through water by the word. 
From heaven he came and sought her 

To be his holy bride; 
With his own blood he bought her. 

And for her life he died. 

Elect from every nation. 

Yet one o'er all the earth; 
Her charter of salvation, — 

One Lord, one faith, one birth. 
One holy name slie blesses. 

Partakes one lioly food. 
And to one hope she presses, 

With every grace endued. 

Long with a scornful wonder 

Men saw her sore oppressed. 
By schisms rent asunder. 

By heresies distressed; 
Yet saints their watch were keeping 

To hail a brighter day, 
Wlien God should stop their weeping, 

Take their reproacli away. 

The evening sun is shining; 

The cloudy day Is past; 
The time of their repining 

Is at an end at last. 
The voice of God is calling 

To unity again; 
Division walls are falling, 

With all the creeds of men. 

Back to the one foundation, 

From sects and creeds made free. 

Come saints of every nation 
To blessed unity. 



482 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Once more the ancient glory 
Shines as in days of old, 

And tells the wondrous story — 
One God, one faith, one fold. 



THE CHURCH OF GOD. 

CliogeD in Christ. 

O thou chosen church of Jesus, grloriors, 
blessed, and secure. 

Founded on the One Foundation, which for- 
ever shall endure. 

Not thy holiness or beauty can thy strength 
and safety be, 

i!;it the everlasting- love wherewiih Je- 
hovah loved thee. 

Chosen by his own grood pleasure, by the 

counsel of his will. 
Mystery of power and wisdom working 

for his people still; 
Chosen in thy mighty Savior, ere one ray 

of quickening light 
Beamed upon the chaos, waiting for the 

Word of sovereign might: 

Chosen through the Holy Spirit, through 

the sanctifying grace 
Poured upon his precious vessels, meetened 

for the heavenly place: 
Chosen to show forth his praises, to be 

holy in his sight: 
Chosen unto grace and glory, chosen unto 

life and light. 

Blessed be the God and Father of our 

Savior Jesus Christ, 
Who hath blessed us with such blessings 

all uncounted and unpriced! 
Let our high and holy calling and our 

strong salvation be 
Theme of never-ending praises, God of 

sovereign grace, to thee! 

Called. 

Holy brethren, called and chosen by the 
sovereign Voice of Might, 

See your high and holy calling out of dark- 
ness into light! 

Called according to his purpose and the 
riches of his love: 

Won to listen by the leading of the gentle 
heavenly Dove! 

Called to suffer with our Master, patiently 
to run his race: 

Called a blessing to inherit: called to holi- 
ness and grace: 

Called to fellowship with Jesus, by the ever- 
faithful One: 

Called to his eternal glory, to the king- 
dom of his Son. 

Whom he calleth he preserveth, and his 

glory they shall see: 
He Is faithful that hath called you: he 

win do it, fear not ye! 



Therefore, holy brethren, onward! thus ye 

make your calling sure: 
For the prize of this high calling, bravely 

to the end endure. 

Justified. 

Israel of God, awaken! Church of Christ, 
Arise and shine! 

Mourning garb and soiled raiment hence- 
forth be no longer thine! 

For the Lord thy God hath clothed thee 
with a new and glorious dress, 

With the garments of salvation, with the 
robe of righteousness. 

By the grace of God the Father thou art 
freely justified. 

Through the great redemption purchased by 
the blood of him who died: 

By his life, for thee fulfilling God's com- 
mand exceeding broad; 

By his glorious resurrection, seal and sig- 
net of thy God. 

Tlierefore, justified forever by the faith 

which he hath given. 
Peace and joy and hope abounding, smoothe 

thy trial path to heaven: 
Unto him betrothed forever, who tliy life 

shall crown and bless. 
By his name thou shalt be called, Christ, 

"The Lord our Righteousness!" 

Sanctified. 

Church of God, beloved and chosen, church 
of Christ, for whom he died. 

Claim thy gifts and praise thy Giver! "Ye 
are washed and sanctified" — • 

Sanctified by God the Father, and by Je- 
sus Christ his Son, 

And by God the Holy Spirit, Holy, Holy 
Three in One. 

By his will he sanctifieth, by the Spirit's 

power within; 
By the loving hand that chasteneth fruits 

of righteousness to win; 
By his truth and by his promise: by the 

Word, his gift unpriced; 
By his own blood; and by union with the 

risen life of Christ. 

Holiness by faith in Jesus, not by effort of 

thine own: 
Sin's dominion crushed and broken by the 

power of grace alone: 
God's own holiness within thee, his own 

beauty on thy brow,— 
This shall be thy pilgrim brightness, this 

thy blessed portion now. 

He will sanctify thee wholly: body, spirit, 

soul shall be 
Blameless till thy Savior's coming In his 

glorious majesty; 
He hath perfected forever those whom he 

hath sanctified: 
Spotless, glorious, and holy Is the church, 

his chosen bride. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— The Church. 



•i83 



Joined to Gluist. 

Joined to Christ in mystic ujiion. 

We thy members, thou our Head, 
Sealed by deep and true communion. 

Risen with tliee, who once were dead — 
Savior, we would humbly claim 
All the power of this thy name. 

Instanc sympathy to brighten 

All their weakness and their woe. 

Guiding grace their way to lighten, 
Shall thy loving members know; 

All their sorrows thou dost bear. 

All thy gladness they shall share. 

Make thy members every hour 

For thy blessed service meet: 
Earnest tongues, and arms of power, 

Skilful hands, and hastening feet. 
Ever ready to fulfil 
AU thy word and all thy will. 

Everlasting life thou givest. 

Everlasting love to see: 
They shall live because thou livest, 

And their life is hid with thee. 
Safe thy members shall be found. 
When their glorious Head is crowned. 

Presented FanltleBS. 

Our Savior and our King, 
Enthroned and crowned above. 
Shall with exceeding gladness bring 
The children of his love. 

All that the Father gave 
His glory shall behold: 
Not one whom Jesus came to save 
Is missing from his fold. 

He shall confess his own 
From every clime and coast, 
Before his Father's glorious throne, 
Before the angel host. 

"O righteous Father, see. 

In spotless robes arrayed, 

Thy chosen gifts of love to me, 
Before the worlds were made. 

"By new creation thine, 
By purpose and by grace. 
By right of full redemption mine. 
Faultless before thy face. 

"As thou hast loved me, 
So hast thou loved them: 
Thy precious jewels they shall be. 
My glorious diadem!" 

Olorlfled. 

Sovereign Lord and gracious Master, 

Thou didst freely choose thine own; 
Thou hast called with mighty calling; 
Thou wilt save, and keep from falling. 
Thine the glory, thine alone! 

Yet thy hand shall crown in heaven. 
All the grace thy love hath given- 



Just, though undeserved, reward 
From our glorious, gracious Lord. 

From the martyr and apostle 

To the sainted baby boy. 
Every consecrated chalice 
In the King of glory's palace 
Overflows witli holy joy. 

Sovereign choice of gift and dower, 
Differing honor, differing power; 
Yet are all alike in this; 
Perfect love and perfect bliss. 

In those heavenly constellations, 
Lo! wliat differing glories meet! 
Stars of radiance soft and tender. 
Stars of full and dazzling splendor. 
All in God's own light complete. 
Brightest they whose holy feet. 
Faithful to his service sweet, 
Nearest to their Master trod, 
Winning wandering souls to God. 

Oh, the rapture of that vision! 

(Every earthly passion o'er) — 
Our Redeemer's coronation, 
And the blissful exaltation 
Of the dear ones gone before. 

Grace that shone for Christ below 
Changed to glory we shall know. 
And before his unveiled face 
Sing the glory of his grace. 

Frances Ridley Haveroal. 



THE NEW JERUSALEM. 

Bathed in unfallen sunlight. 

Itself a sun-born gem, 
Fair gleams the glorious city, 
The new Jerusalem! 
City fairest, 
Splendor rarest. 
Let me gaze on thee! 

Calm in her queenly glory, 

She sits all joy and light; 
Pure in her bridal beauty. 
Her raiment festal-white. 
Home of gladness. 
Free from sadness. 
Let me dwell in thee! 

Shading her golden pavement. 

The tree of life is seen. 
Its fruit-rich branches waving. 
Celestial evergreen. 

Tree of wonder, 
Let me under 
Thee forever rest! 

Fresh from the throne of Godhead, 

Bright in its crystal gleam. 
Bursts out the living fountain, 
Swells on the living stream. 
Blessed river. 
Let me ever 
Feast my eye on thee! 



484 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



streams of true life and gladness, 
Springs of all health and peace; 
No harps by thee hang silent. 
Nor happy voices cease. 
Tranquil river. 
Let me ever 
Sit and sing: by thee! 

River of God, I greet thee. 

Not now afar, but near; 
My soul to thy still waters 
Hastes in its thirstings here. 
Holy river. 
Let me ever 
Drink of only thee! 

HoRATIUa BONAB. 



FAIR ZION. 

O beautiful Zion, fair bride of the Lamb! 

Thy marvelous light we behold, 
Which shone on the nations enshrouded by 
darkness. 

And millions were brought to thy fold. 

IlcUpsed was thy luster by long papal 
night, 
And dimly the dark, cloudy day 
Revealed thee to eyes that were earnestly 
searching 
For truth and the heavenly way. 

Thy light as the morning breaks forth in 
the earth: 
Thy brightness all nations shall see: 
The ransomed from Babel are eagerly turn- 
ing 
With songs of rejoicing to thee. 

O Zion, blessed Zion! thy sun shall no more 
Go down in obscurity's night: 

From out thy perfection of beauty is shin- 
ing 
The rays of God's wonderful light. 

Eternity's ages of bliss shall be thine, 

In regions unclouded above: 
And there shalt thou dwell evermore witli 
thy Maker, 
Delighting thyself in his love. 

C. w. Xaylor. 



THE BRIDE OF CHRIST. 

O church of God, thou spotless bride. 

On Jesus' breast secure! 
No stains of sin in thee abide: 

Thy garments all are pure. 
Of unity and holiness 

Thy gentle voice doth sing; 
Of purity and lowliness 

Thy songs in triumph ring. 



Thou lovely virgin, thou art fair, 

Thy mother's only child. 
Thy heavenly music let me hear; 

Thy voice is sweet and mild. 
Thy cheeks adorned with jewels bright. 

Thy neck with chains of gold; 
Unfurl thy banners in thy might, 

Thy graces rich unfold. 

She stood attired in spotless dress 

The early morning througli. 
And then into the wilderness 

On eagle's wings she flew; 
.And, nourished there from heavenly clime. 

She lived for many years; 
Now in this blessed evening time 

Her glory reappears. 

She leans upon an arm of love: 

No sin her garments taints; 
They're made of linen woven above — 

The righteousness of saints. 
The marriage of the Lamb is come; 

His bride all ready stands: 
The Bridegroom soon will take her home 

To dwell in heavenly lands. 

Claba M. Bbooks. 



THE CHURCH TRIUMPHANT. 

Men speak of a "church triumphant" 
As something on earth unknown; 

They think us beneath the tyrant 
Until we shall reach our home. 

Oh! can not the great Redeemer 

Prevail over Satan here? 
Or must we remain yet under 

Confusion, pressed down in fear? 

He built on a sure foundation, 
And said that the gates of hell 

Against her divine munitions 
Can never indeed prevail. 

Then how can you say, dear people, 
Tou can not be kept each day? 

The infinite arm is able; 

His word has not passed away. 

'Tis not in the church of Jesus 
That people yet live In sin. 

But in the dark creeds they're joining: 
And vainly are trusting in. 

God's church is alone triumphant. 

In holiness all complete. 
And all the dark powers of Satan 

She tramples beneath her feet. 

Thank God for a church triumphant. 
All pure in this world below! 

For the kingdom that Jesus founded 
Does triumph o'er every foe. 

Daniel S. Warner. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Supplication, Prayer. 



485 



SUPPLICATION, PRAYER 



HIS WAY. 

Teach me thy way, O Father: 

Around me falls the night; 
I know not where my pathway 

Shall lead ere morning light. 
I asli not for a sunbeam 

To burst upon my siglit; 
Just smile, dear Lord, upon me; 

My path shall then be bright. 

Teach me thy way, O Father; 

For mine, though fair it seemed. 
Has lost its shining glimmer — 

The goal of which I dreamed. 
The last dim ray of sunlight 

Has vanished while I roam; 
How fast the darkness gathers! 

In mercy lead me home. 

Where dost thou, tender Shepherd, 

With all thy flock abide? 
I fain thy paths would follow, 

Nor from thee turn aside; 
For life is lonely, lonely, 

Without thy presence here. 
No sorrow can befall me, 

O Lord, if thou art near. 

As one of old requested 

Thy wisdom great to know. 
Than gold and honor rather 

To walk in meekness low; 
So Lord, that I may bring thee 

The honor of my life. 
Teach me thy ways of wisdom, 

Amid earth's din and strife. 

Teach me to walk in meekness 

And answer not a word, 
E'en when accusers many 

Against my soul are stirred. 
As Daniel in the palace 

WHien all were 'gainst him moved. 
Oh, may I, too. be blameless 

And faultless stand approved! 

Oh! teach me how to conquer 

In every trying hour, 
And how to trust thy promise 

Though dark the storm-clouds lower. 
A^^len others run. O Father, 

Their anxious hearts to sate. 
That I may have thy guidance 

Teach me on thee to wait. 

Thy life of self-denial 

And sacrifice for me. 
Teach ine to live for others, 

And thus to worship thee. 
Though thou hadst not a pillow 

Nor place thy head to lay, 
Yet I thy steps would follow; 

Oh: teach me. Lord, thy way — 



Thy way of resignation 

To all tlie Fathers will; 
To suffer pain and sorrow. 

His purpose to fulfil; 
Regarding not thy life-blood. 

Nor counting dear its loss, 
Nor shrinking from the suff'ring 

And shame on Calv'ry's cross. 

Savior draw me near thee — 
Afar I can not stay — 

And guide my falt'ring footsteps 
Through life's long, weary day. 

1 catch from heaven the answer; 
I hear the angels say, 

"The meek will he guide in Judgment 
And the meek will he teach his way.' 
C1.ARA M. Bbooks. 



BLESSING FROM HEAVEN. 

A blessing from heaven 

Far purer than gold 
Is filling my bosom 

With riches untold — 
Sweet heavenly foretaste 

So full and so free. 
I wonder if some one 

Is praying for me. 

The world is against me 

Because of tiie love 
Tiiat Jesus hath given 

His ransomed to prove: 
I crave not her pleasures. 

Because I am free. 
Praise God for the loved ones 

Who're praying for me. 

The voice of the tempter 

Is loud, harsh, and stern; 
He threatens, accuses. 

And tells me to turn; 
But Jesus is faithful, 

In him I am free 
To join with the loved ones 

^\lio're praying for me. 

This heavenly sweetness 

That gladdens my soul 
Is sent by our Maker, 

My life to control. 
Now centered in Jesus, 

In him I am free 
To pray for the loved ones 

Who're praying for me. 

The voice of my Savior 

Is soft, kind, and true: 
He bids me be patient 

Until I am through. 
While praying for sinners. 

By faith I can see 
A crown to the faithful 

Who're praying for me. 

Emma I. CosTON. 



486 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



I NEED THEE, LORD. 

I need thee, Lord; I need thy lielp today 
To guide me onward in my pilgrim way. 
My vision far too narrow is to see 
The rugged path of duty leading up to thee. 

I need thee, Lord; I need thy strong right 

hand 
To lead me upward to that brighter land. 
Alone I feebly falter on my way; 
I can not do without thee. Lord, e'en one 

short day. 

I need thee. Lord, to strengthen lest I fall; 
The foes that gather round ray way appall. 
I need thy boundless grace lest I should 

fail 
And be far driven from the harbor by the 

gale. 

I need thee when the waking sun doth rise. 
And till its last beams die in western 

skies; 
Still in the darkness would I have thee 

near 
To hold my hand, to keep my soul, to calm 

each fear. 

C. W. Natloh. 



THROUGH PEACE TO LIGHT. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be 

A pleasant road; 
I do not ask that thou wouldst take from 

1116 

Aught of its load; 

I do not ask that flowers should always 
spring 

Beneath my feet; 
I know too well the poison and the sting- 

Of things too sweet. 

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I 
plead : 

Lead me aright — 
Though strength should falter and though 
heart 

Should bleed — 
Through peace to light. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst 
shed 

Full radiance here; 
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread 

Without a fear. 

I do not ask my cross to understand, 

My way to see; 
Fetter in darkness just to feel thy hand, 

And follow thee. 

Joy is like restless day, but peace divine 

Like quiet night; 
Lead me, O Lord — till perfect day shall 
shine — 

Through peace to light. 

Adblaidh a. Proctbr. 



WALKING ON THE WALL. 

My wee one walked tlie narrow wall — 

What child but hungers thus to go? — 
Her eyes alert lest she might fall 

On that rough-bowldered pave below. 
At length she stopped, and this her plea. 

As though o'erfuU of care her cup: 
"Please, Daddy, hold my hand for me 

So when I walk I can look up." 

All-Father, when we walk the ways 

That teem with pitfalls for our feet, 
That baby plea of bygone days 

Might in our sorest need be meet. 
Tired out with watchfulne.ss and care. 

With strife for paltry bite and sup, 
"Thou hold our hands," we make our 
prayer, 

"That while we walk we may look u.p." 
Strickland W. Gillilan. 



I WILL PRAY. 

Wlien the cares of life are pressing, 

I will pray; 
When with evil powers I'm wrestling, 
I will pray. 
Ever, always, night or day. 
Victory's had no other way; 
Help will reach you, if you say, 
"I will pray." 

In the stilly night, when waking, 

I will pray; 
■UHien the morning light is breaking-, 
I will pray; 
When the day-beams gleam afar, 
Light bedims the morning star. 
Trials rude, my peace would mar, 
I will pray. 

WJien dark clouds of evil rise, 

I will pray, 
And heaven is hid by brassy skies, 
Still I'll pray. 
Our Savior stands beyond the veil; 
To plead his merits will avail; 
Faith in God will still prevail 
Wlien we pray. 

When the altar call is given, 

I will pray; 
To help sinners start for heaven, 
I will pray. 
One more prayer may tip the scale; 
At such times I must not fail, 
Lest this be the bitter wail: 
"I did not pray." 

For clearer light upon God's Word 

I will pray; 
To learn to use the Spirit's sword 
I will pray. 
Wlio at the throne doth intercede 
And for the lost doth strongly plead, 
To Calvary's cross he them will lead. 
There to pray. 

I. P. McLBasTBR. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Supplication, Prayer. 



487 



ONLY FOR THEE. 

Precious Savior, may 1 live — only for thee; 
Spend the powers thou dost give — only for 

tliee; 
In my joys may I rejoice — only for thee; 
In my choices, make my choice — only for 

thee; 
Meekly may I suffer grief — only for thee; 
Gratefully accept relief — only for thee; 
May I labor, may I toil — only for thee; 
Calmly pass through all turmoil — only for 

thee; 
Be my spirit's deep desire — only for thee; 
May my intellect aspire — only for thee; 
Be my smiles and be my tears — only for 

thee; 
Be my young and riper years — only for 

thee; 
Be my singing, be my sighing — only for 

thee; 
Be my sickness, be my dying — only for 

tliee; 
Be my rising, be my glory — only for thee; 
Be my whole eternity- — only for thee. 



JESUS. I MY CROSS HAVE TAKEN. 

Jesus, I my cross have taken, 

All to leave and follow thee; 
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken. 

Thou, from hence, my all shalt be: 
Perish every fond ambition. 

All I've sought or hoped or known; 
Yet how rich is my condition! 

God and heaven are still my own. 

Let the world despise and leave me; 

They have left my Savior, too. 
Human hearts and looks deceive me; 

Thou art not, like them, untrue; 
And while thou shalt smile upon me, 

God of wisdom, love, and might. 
Foes may hate, and friends may scorn me, — 

Show thy face, and all is bright. 

Go, then, earthly fame and treasure! 

Come, disaster, scorn, and pain! 
In thy service pain is pleasure; 

With thy favor loss is gain. 
I have called thee, "Abba, Father"; 

I have stayed my heart on thee: 
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather. 

All must work for good to me. 

Man may trouble and distress me, 

'Twill but drive me to thy breast; 
Life with trials hard may press me. 

Heaven will bring me sweeter rest. 
Oh! 'tis not in grief to harm me 

While thy love is left to me; 
Oh! 'twere not in joy to charm me 

Were that joy unmixed with thee. 

Know, my soul, thy full salvation; 

Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care; 
Joy to find in every station 

Something still to do or bear. 



Think what Spirit dwells within thee; 

\\Tiat a Father's smile is thine; 
■VMiat a Savior died to win thee: 

Child of heaven, shouldst thou repine? 

Haste thee on from grace to glory, 

Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;. 
Heaven's eternal day's before thee, 

God's own hand shall guide thee there. 
Soon shall close thy earthly mission. 

Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days; 
Hope shall change to glad fruition. 

Faith to sight, and prayer to praise. 
Henry Francis Lttb. 



THE MINISTRY OF LOVE. 

I heard the wavelet kiss the shore ere"* 

lost within tlie sea, 
And the ripple of the silvery tide seemed 

as a psalm to me; 
Contented with God's holy will, its feeble 

voice to raise 
To hymn his glory, and be lost, nor thirst 

for human praise. 
Lord, make me, like the ocean's voice, 

obedient to thy will. 
Thy purpose work as faithfully, and at 

thy word be still. 

I marked the soft dew silently descend o'er 

plain and hill, 
On each parched herb and drooping flower 

the heavenly cloud distil: 
As noiseless as the sun's first beams, it 

vanished with the day; 
But the waving fields told where it fell, 

when the dew had passed away. 
Lord, make me like the gentle dew, that 

other hearts may prove, 
E'en through thy feeblest messenger, tU>' 

ministry of love! 

Anna SnirTON. 



THE EVENING HOUR OF PRAYER.. 

The hush of evening's holy calm 
Falls on my heart — a soothing balm; 
It fills my soul with awe and love. 
And turns my thoughts to worlds above. 
Oh, sacred hour! divinely meet 
To sit in prayer at Jesus' feet. 

The fleecy clouds reposing H© 
Against the gold-hued evening sky; 
I scarce can hear the sound of leaves 
As softly moved by gentle breeze: 
A fragrance fills the calm, still air; 
It is the incense sweet of prayer. 

The little brook in muflled tone 
Flows softly over the mossy stone: 
A stillness reigns over field and wood; 
All nature lies in quietude: 
Earth stills her voice as if aware 
Of this the hn\ir of holy prayer. 



488 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



More fitting: hour there can not be 
To lift the heart and bend the knee; 
No hour more fit for heaven's embrace, 
To meet the Savior face to face: 
It was the hour the lioly pair 
Conversed with God in Eden fair. 

Tongrue can not tell the joys we greet 
When bowed before the mercy-seat; 
'Tis there the censer's drippings fall; 
It is the holiest place of all. 
But If on earth such hours we see, 
Oh! tell me wliat will heaven be? 

Chablbs E. Obb. 



A PRAYER. 

Gentle Shepherd, lead me safe 

O'er the rugged steeps of time; 
Smile upon me while I place. 

Trustingly, my hand in thine; 
Clasp me fondly to thy heart; 

"WTiisper holy strains of love; 
And to me thv grace impart. 

With the bliss they know above. 

Keep from cares my lonely life. 

Guard my lonely heart from fears. 
And beyond this mortal strife 

"In thy bottle" pour "my tears." 
Fold me closely in thine arms; 

Let me feel thy quickening power; 
Ever proof 'gainst death's alarms. 

Or against temptation's hour. 

Gentle Shepherd, lead me on 

Till I reach those gardens fair. 
In my bright eternal home. — 

Gentle Shepherd, guide me there! 
Bear me softly o'er earth's mead, 

Kindly shield me from despair. 
And supply my ev'ry need — 

Gentle Shepherd, hear my prayer! 

Anna K. Thomas. 



NOTHING LESS AND NOTHING 
MORE. 

Father in heaven, I ask of thee 

To grant from thy full treasure-store 

Just what thou seest my need to be. 
And nothing less, and nothing more; 

Tea, all thou wilt bestow on me — 
Nothing less and nothing more 

The blessing thou art pleased to give 
To those who love thee and adore, 

■W'ith grateful heart I would receive; 
I ask no less and want no more. 

Just help a perfect life to live — 
Nothing less and nothing more. 

Let me have thee, and thee alone, 

Though old and homeless, frail and poor. 

And in thy book my name be known; 
I can not ask or wish for more: 



My name among the Savior's own — 
Nothing less and nothing more. 

I hear thy voice. Come in, I pray; 

My heart unlocks its every door; 
Have in my house, O Lord, thy way 

Forevermore, forevermore; 
Thy way with me, Lord, every day — 

Nothing less and nothing more. 

With thee my soul can sweetly rest, 
In sunshine or when tempests roar; 

I know I'm safe with thee as guest; 
I can not ask or wish for more; 

With thee I'm sure of what is best — ■ 
Nothing less and nothing more. 

W. T. Slbspbb. 



PETITION. 

O God of light and love! 
We come with songs of praise to thee; 

Attune our hearts now from above 
With heaven's purest melody. 

Let seraphs chant the strain 
That holy saints on earth may swell, 

And waft the cadence back again 
As thus their gratitude they tell! 

The treasures of thy grace 
In earthly temples thou hast poured, 

That all our faith and trust we place 
In keeping of our righteous Lord. 

Tlien, look in pity down; 
Remember thou our human form. 

Though dust we give to thee, renown 
.Vnd glorify thy matchless name. 

The earthen vessels, Lord, 
May break beneath Time's ruthless hand. 

But by thy great eternal word 
The life incased within shall stand 

T\Tien touched by power divine. 
'Tis strange and wonderful, but true. 

Thou dost these issues thus combine 
And from dead natures create new. 

Help us, dear Lord, aright 
Thy wondrous dying love to sing-. 

That streams of joy and floods of light 
We now to sinners' hearts may bring. 

Let song's triumphant smile 
Reign over souls of fallen men. 

That those who've pined in drear exile 
May find their Father's house again. 

Anna K. Thomas. 



ALONE WITH JESUS. 

Alone with Jesus: oh, how sweet 
The seasons spent low at his feet 
In humble, fervent, secret prayer! 
My soul would e'er be feasting there. 

Alone with Jesus; sweetest place, 
So hallowefl by his richest ,^race; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— SuppHcation, Prayer. 



489 



WTiere heaven seems all round about, 
And every earthly thing sliut out. 

Alone with him; 'tis there I gain 
The grace in heavenly place to reign; 
'Tis til ere I gain tlie strength to live; 
'Tis tliere the Lord delights to give. 

Alone with him, I find sweet rest 
From all my troubles, on his breast; 
I cast on him my every care. 
And find sweet peace and comfort there. 

C. W. Naylob. 



THE PLACE OF PRAYER. 

I need not wait until the busy day 

To find at eve an angel waiting there 

At length has sped away, 

Beside my place of prayer. 

I need not tarry till the night shall fall 

To seek this shrine beside the city wall. 

Each hour of toil and self-denying grace 
l9 an appointed place, 
A sanctuary where ray soul may kneel 
With its devout appeal; 

There, too, I know the presence of the King. 
His "Peace, be still," the shadow of his 
wing. 



WATCH AND PRAY. 

Would you have the Prince of peace 

Wreathe his laurels on thy brow? 
Love and peace and gentleness. 

Sunshine everywhere you go? 
Blessed Comforter within! 

Oh I who would not have him stay, 
Shielding, keeping thee from sin. 

Saying often, "Watch and pray"? 

Would you have his tender love 

Deeply rooted in thy breast? 
Have no selfish, bitter thought 

To disturb thy peaceful rest? 
Then resign to him thy will, 

Let his Spirit have full sway. 
Every promise he'll fulfil, 

While you humbly "watch and pray. 

Tell him all your griefs and cares. 

All your joys and triumphs, too; 
He will make the troubled heart 

Calm and fresh as morning dew. 
Though the tempter offers you 

All his kingdom in a day. 
He'll retreat a conquered foe. 

If you only "watch and pray." 

Far away among the blest, 

Loving forms are waiting you, 

Crowns of life and spotless robes 
Promised to the faithful few. 

We may to the end endure. 
All his blessed commands obey. 



Mind and heart and conscience pure 
If we humbly "watch and pray." 

JENNIE MASjT. 



to 



THE PILGRIM S WANTS. 

want that adorning divine 
Thou only, my God, canst bestow; 
want in those beautiful garments 

shine, 
Wliich distinguish thy household below. 
Col. 3:12-17. 



I want, oh! I want to attain 

Some likeness, my Savior, to thee. 
That longed-for resemblance once more to 
regain ; 
Thy comeliness put upon me. 

1 John 3: 2, 3. 

I want to be marked for thy own; 

Thy seal on my forehead to wear; 
To receive that "new name" on the mystic 
white stone. 
Wliich only thyself canst declare. 

Rev. 2: 17. 

I want, every moment, to feel 

That the Spirit does dwell in my heart: 
That his power is present to cleanse and to 
heal. 
And newness of life to impart. 

Rom. 8: 11-16. 

I want so in thee to abide 

As to bring forth some fruit to thy 
praise; 
The branch that thou prunest, though fee- 
ble and dried. 
May languish, but never decays. 

John 15: 2-5. 

I want thine own hand to unbind 

Each tie to terrestrial things. 
Too tenderly cherished, too closely en- 
twined. 
Where my heart too tenaciously clings. 
1 John 2: 15. 

I want, by my aspect serene. 

My actions and words, to declare 
That my treasure is placed in a country 
unseen. 
That my heart and affections are there. 
Matt. 6: 19-21. 

I want, as a traveler, to haste 

Straight onward nor pause on my way; 
No forethought or anxious contrivance to 
waste 
On my tent, only pitched for a day. 

Heb. 13:5, 6. 

I want (and this sums up my prayer^ 

To glorify thee till I die: 
Then calmly to yield up my soul to thy 
care, 
And breathe out in prayer my last sigh 
Phil. 3:8, 9. 



490 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ANOTHER YEAR. 

Another year is dawning! 

Dear Master, let It be. 
In working or in waiting. 

Another year with thee; 

Another year of leaning 
Upon thy loving breast, 

Of ever-deepening trustfulness. 
Of quiet, liappy rest; 

Another year of mercies, 
Of faithfulness and grace; 

Another year of gladness 
In the shining of thy face; 

Another year of progress; 

Another year of praise; 
Another year of proving 

Thy presence "all the days"; 

Another year of service. 
Of witness for thy love; 

Another year of training 
For holier work above. 

Another year is dawning! 

Dear Master, let it be, 
On earth or else in heaven, 

Another year for thee! 

Frances RiDLEt Haveroal. 



A PRAYER. 

God, I pray to thee for patience when the 
world seems all unfair, 

When life seems one long injustice and the 
end alone despair. 

WJien I'm weary, oh, so weary! and my 
tears bring no relief. 

When I question why thou sendest to hu- 
manity such grief, 

Grant me faith as well as patience, and 
forgive me when I pray 

For some knowledge of the reasons why we 
suffer day by day. 

Give me strength to keep on workinq^. 
cheerfully to do my task; 

Give me courage, hope, submission — per- 
fect Joy I can not ask. 

Teach me how to give to others something 
helpful, something true. 

How to make my life worth living, how to 
start each day anew. 

God In heaven, forgive my failures, and 
uphold me with thy hand; 

I am weak, impatient, restless, and T can 
not understand. 

I can only hope, believing there are rea- 
sons now unknown. 

Which sometime, somewhere we'll master, 
as we reap what we have sown. 

God, once more I come imploring thee 
with strength to fill my heart. 

I have failed: wilt thou forgive me, and 
thy love to me impart? 

Stlfia Chaptn. 



STILL WITH ME. 

Still with thee, O my God, 

I would desire to be; 
By day, by night, at home, abroad, 

I would be still with thee: 

With thee wlien dawn comes in 
And calls ma back to care, 

Each day returning to begin 
With thee, my God, in prayer; 

Witli thee amid the crowd 
That throngs the busy mart, 

To hear thy voice, mid clamor loud. 
Speak softly to my heart; 

With tliea when day is done 
And evening calms the mind; 

Tlie setting as the rising sun 
With thee my heart would find; 

With tliee, in thee, by faith 
Abiding I would be; 
By day, by night, in life, in death, 
I would be still with thee. 

HORATIDS BONAR. 



A MORNING PRAYER. 

Father, give me grace today. 
That all I do or tliink or say. 

May be most pleasing in thy sight. 
And bring me peace when falls the night. 

Lead by thy hand the whole day through, 
Tliat I thy perfect will may do: 

1 would not take one step apart 
From the sweet pleasure of tliy heart. 

Thy purpose is of greater worth 
Than all the treasures of tlie earth; 
Upon thy will I daily think — 
To do it is my meat and drink. 

To thee I live, whate'er betide; 
To tliee, my heart's door opens wide. 
Come in; the whole to thee is given; 
There do thy pleasure as in heaven. 

In this heart-temple have thy way; 
Be pleased to walk about today; 
And if thou findest one thing there 
Thy holy image dost not bear. 

Oh! tear it down — let naught remain; 
To leave it tliere is worse than pain. 
Apply tlie blood, the cleansing stream, 
That thy pure image may be seen. 

Just like the branches in the vine. 
Oh! let my soul in thine entwine. 
That I may holy be today 
In all I do or think or say. 

As in the earth deep roots the tree. 
So may my heart, dear I,ord. in thee. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Supplication, Prayer. 



491 



That I this day may walk upright, 
Have peace with thee when falls the night. 
Chasl£s E. Orb. 



SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER. 

Sweet hour of prayer! thou holdest in 

Thy hand a treasure rare: 
Thy charms have power to vanquish sin 

And banish thoughts of care. 
A\'ithin thy walls a safe retreat 

Thou offerest unto all 
Within thy gates — oh, rest complete 

To those who on thee call! 

The weary, wayworn pilgrim here 

May find a rest serene; 
The thirsty of thy waters clear 

May drink. Its crystals sheen 
A balm affords each fainting heart; 

The hungry to tliee led 
From emptiness of earth apart 

Are filled with living bread. 

The secret of the Iieavenly throng 

To him the Lord reveals 
■WTio seeks thee oft, and lingering long 

Before thine altar kneels. 
O sacred dwelling, wondrous are 

The gifts thou dost contain; 
Thy hidden wealth is better far 

Than stores of eartlily gain. 

For him who knoweth not thy place, 

Nor seeks thy way to learn. 
There waits no satisfying grace; 

No Joy shall he discern 
In thee nor in that world above 

Nor in the earth below: 
Oh, wretched soul devoid of love! 

Oh, life of endless woel 

"Who knows the place where thou art built, 

O sacred shrine of prayer, 
Knows naught of sorrow, naught of guilt. 

And naught of earthly care. 
Finds treasures deeply buried in 

Thy mines, a wealthy store; 
Finds strength for battle, power to win, 

Who loves thee more and more. 

We bow our heads and prostrate fall 

"Ulien thy sweet voice is heard; 
Our spirits listen for thy call; 

Within our souls is stirred 
An heavenly song that answers to 

Thy sweet seraphic strains. 
Blessed hour of prayer! — in accents true 

^'e join thy glad refrain. 

And bowing at our Father's feet 

Submissive to his will. 
We hear him whisper words most sweet: 

"Be still, dear heart, be still!" 
Our souls triumphantly above 

All thousrhts of earthly care 
Are borne upon thy wings of love, 

O sacred hour of prayer! 

Clara M. Brooks. 



DEVOTION. 

As down in the sunless retreats of the 
ocean 
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal 
can see. 
So deep in my soul the still prayer of de- 
votion, 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to 
thee, 

My God! silent to thee — 
Pure, warm, silent to thee. 

As still to the star of its worship, though 
clouded. 
The needle points faithfully o'er the 
dim sea. 
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world 
shrouded, 
The hope of my spirit turns trembling 
to thee, 

My God! trembling to thee — 
True, fond, trembling to thee. 

Thomas Moore. 



ABIDE WITH ME. 

[This hymn was written in 1847, in the author's 
fifty-fourth year, when he felt the eventide of life 
approaching. For twenty .vears he had ministered 
to a lowly congregation in Devonshire. His life was 
filled with disappointments and afflictions. His am- 
bitions were crossed, his affections were betra.ved, 
and bis health failed. He decided to spend a winter 
in Italy. On a Sunday in September he preached— 
in weakness — a farewell sermon to his much-loved 
people, and in the evening of the same day he wrote 
this immortal hymn. It proved to be his own death- 
song of holy faith, for soon after arriving in Italy he 
fell asleep in Jesus. It is one of the most pathetic 
hiys in our modern hynmology.] 

Abide with me: fast falls the eventide, 
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide! 
Wlien other helpers fail and comforts flee. 
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me! 

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; 
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass 

away: 
Change and decay in all around I see; 

thou who changest not, abide with me! 

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word, 
But as thou dwell'st with thy disciples. 

Lord, 
Familiar, condescending, patient, free, 
Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me. 

1 need thy presence every passing hour: 
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's 

power? 
Wlio like thyself my guide and stay can be? 
Through cloud and sunshine, oh, abide with 

me! 

I fear no foe; with thee at hand to bless. 
Ills have no weight and tears no bitterness: 
Where is Death's sting? where. Grave, thy 

victory? 
I triumph still if thou abide with me. 



492 



TEEASURES OF POETRY. 



Hold thou thy cross before my closing 

eyes; 
Shine through the gloom, and point me to 

the skies; 
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain 

sliadows flee; 
In life, in death, O Lurd, abide with me! 
Henry I-'kancis Lyte. 



PRAYER. 

Softly o'er my spirit stealing, 
■yVTiile in sweet communion kneeling 

With my Lord, 
Peace that passeth understanding. 
Blessed joy that has no ending. 

On his Word. 

Cause me. Lord, to hear thee speaking. 
Let me not thy 'Word be breaking. 

Now I pray; 
Willing ears to thee e'er lending. 
Up to thee my thoughts e'er sending 

All the day. 

Cause me. Lord, to know each hour 
Thy salvation and thy power. 

Saved from sin; 
Keep me from all foolish talking; 
Let me know the way I'm walking 

Heaven to win. 

From my foes each day deliver. 
Hid away in Christ forever. 

This I plead; 
On thy promises relying. 
By thy grace thou art supplying 

All my need. 

May I now thy will be doing. 
Every moment peace pursuing 

With all men; 
Quickened by thy gentle Spirit, 
Life in Christ I shall inherit 

Till the end. 

James B. Branam. 



THE ROCK, CHRIST. 

Rock of Ages, standing fast 
In the desert wild and vast; 
Lifting up thy stately form 
To the sunshine and the storm; 
Changeless through all changing tim( 
Strong, impregnable, sublime! 

Rock of Ages, let me hide 
In thy deeply caverned side. 
When tlie tempest rolls on high, 
And the lightnings cleave the sky. 
In the sweetness of repose 
There a while mine eyes to close. 

Rock of Ages, let me stand 
On thy brow, serene and grand; 
Thence to view the way I've come. 
Thence to catch a glimpse of home — 



Home, wliere toils and troubles cease. 
And the soul finds perfect peace. 

Sheltered there let me remain 

Till the heavens grow bright again. 

Rock of Ages, let me rest 

In tliy shadow, when distressed 

By the long and weary way 

Or tlie noontide's burning ray. 



WHAT IS PRAYER? 

What is prayer? 'Tis not mere words; 

'Tis not the fluent flow of speech: 
'Tis not tlie moving of the lips 

That doth the great Creator reacli — 
'Tis more than this. 

Wliat is prayer? An essay read 

From books to please the ears of men? 

The counting of the rosary 

With words said o'er and o'er again? 
'Tis more than this. 

'Tis not self-righteous pleas of worth; 

'Tis not the studied speech of art; 
Nor is it vain and pompous show, 

Nor lip-thanks with a thankless lieart — 
But more than this. 

Then, what is prayer? The spirit's cry 

Unto its Master and its Lord, 
With words, without, it matters not. 
The earnest plea in heaven heard — 
This, this is prayer. 

C. W. Natlob. 



WHO IS MY BROTHER? 

Must I my brother keep. 

And share his pains and toil. 

And weep with those that weep, 
And smile with those that smile. 

And act to each a brother's part. 

And feel his sorrows in ray heart? 

Must I his burden bear 

As though it were my own. 

And do as I would care 
Should to myself be done. 

And faithful to his interests prove. 

And as myself my neighbors love? 

Must I reprove his sin, 

Must I partake his grief, 
And kindly enter in 

And minister relief — 
The naked clothe, the hungry feed. 
And love him not in word, but deed? 

Then, Jesus, at thy feet, 

A student let me be. 
And learn, as it is meet. 

My duty. Lord, to thee; 
For thou didst come on mercy's plan. 
And all thy life was love to man. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Supplication, Prayer. 



493 



Ohl make me as thou art, 
Thy Spirit, Lord, bestow — 

The kind and gentle heart 
That feels another's woe — 

That thus I may be like my Head. 

And in my Savior's footsteps tread. 



THE WILL OF GOD. 

"Thy will, dear God, thy holy will!" 
Be this my cry, through good and ill. 
Through joyous shout and sighing; 
For thou dost but design the best 
For those who on thy bosom rest. 
Relying. 

Mid kindly friends or bitter foes, 
In thee alone I would repose. 
In safety or in danger. 
Oh, may I, trusting in thy grace, 
Be never to thy blessed face 
A stranger! 

But one short life have I to live, 
But one heart-service true to give 
For Christ the Savior tender. 
Oh, keep me in thy service sweet! 
May all my years be one complete 
Surrender. 

Among the true and chosen band 
W\\o with their blessed Captain stand 
Mid warring roar and rattle 
I would contend for "present truth" 
Tin Armageddon's won, forsooth. 
In battle. 

O Savior, in thy blood I trust; 
My only hope, in thee I must 
Be kept, or lost forever; 
But at the cross I pledge my heart 
From thee. Redeemer, not to part — 
No, never! 

Robert Rothman. 



A CHRISTIAN S WANTS. 

Dear Savior, those virtues divine 

On me a poor creature bestow. 
That I like a Christian may shine, 

Thy favor so sweetly may know. 
That armor of goodness to wear. 

Of faith, hope, and friendship, and love; 
Nor hatred, noi malice, to bear, 

I'd be like the angels above. 

Give me every moment to feel 

Thy Spirit so rich in my heart; 
Thy power both to cleanse and to heal. 

And newness of life to impart. 
In thee I would always abide. 

And bring forth some fruit to thy praise; 
I'd stay very close to thy side. 

That thou shouldst direct all my ways. 



I want thine own hand to unbind 

Each tie to terrestrial things 
Too tenderly loved, or entwined. 

Though sorrow by parting it brings. 
I want all my conduct serene. 

By actions and words to declare. 
In a country as yet unseen. 

My heart's best affections are there. 



I want 

Thy 
On a p 

That 
I want 

That 
That I 

The 



to be marked for thine own. 
seal on my forehead to wear, 
ure and untarnished white stone 

"new name" forever to bear. 

to have stamped on my heart 

likeness, dear Savior, of thee, 

may to others impart 
blessings conferred upon me. 

John Newham. 



THE LOWLY HEART. 

Father, I know that all my life 

Is portioned out for me: 
And the changes that are sure to come, 

I do not fear to see; 
But I ask thee for a present mind 

Intent on pleasing thee. 

I ask thee for a thoughtful love. 
Through constant watching wise. 

To meet the glad with joyful smiles. 
And wipe tlie weeping eyes; 

And a heart at leisure from itself. 
To soothe and sympathize. 

I would not have the restless will 

That hurries to and fro. 
Seeking for some great thing to do 

Or secret thing to know; 
I would be treated as a child. 

And guided where I go. 

^\nierever in the world I am. 

In whatsoe'er estate, 
I have a fellowship with hearts 

To keep and cultivate. 
And a work of lowly love to do. 

For the Lord on whom I wait. 

So I ask thee for the daily strength. 

To none that ask denied. 
And a mind to blend with outward life, 

■Willie keeping at thy side; 
Content to fill a little space. 

If thou be glorified. 

And if some things I do not ask. 

In my cup of blessing be. 
I would have my spirit filled the more 

■With grateful love to thee; 
More careful not to serve thee much. 

But to please thee perfectly. 

There are briers besetting every path. 

That call for patient care; 
There is a cross to every lot. 

And an earnest need for prayer; 



494 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



But a lowly heart that leans on thee 
Is happy anywhere. 

In a service which thy will appoints 

Til ere are no bonds for me; 
For my inmost heart is taught the trutli 

That malies tliy children free; 
And a life of self-renouncing love 

Is a life of liberty. 

Anna L. Wabing. 



MY PRAYER. 

Help me, dear Lord, to see 

How dear thou art; 
Faithful and true to thee 

Keep tliou my heart; 
Help me to bring each care 
To thee in trusting prayer. 
And from each sinful snare 

Keep thou me free. 

When joy my way attends. 

And slties are bright. 
To thee, whose mercy sends 

Each sweet delight, 
Glad songs of prayer and praise 
Witli heart and voice 1 11 raise. 
And own thee all my days. 

Truest of friends. 

And should my joys prove brief. 

And from the sky 
Burst storms of pain and grief. 

Still hear my cry. 
O God, whose mighty arm 
Canst save from every liarm, 
Spealt then, my fears to calm — 

Send thou relief. 

B. T. Warneb. 



I COULD NOT DO WITHOUT THEE. 

I could not do without thee, 

Savior of the lost! 

Whose precious blood redeemed me. 

At such tremendous cost. 
Thy righteousness, thy pardon. 

Thy precious blood, must be 
My only hope and comfort. 

My glory and my plea. 

I could not do without thee; 

1 can not stand alone; 

I have no strength or goodness. 

No wisdom, of my own: 
But thou, beloved Savior, 

Art all in all to me; 
And weakness will be power. 

If leaning hard on thee. 

I could not do without thee; 

For oh! the way is long. 
And I am often weary, 

And sigh replaces song. 
How could I do without thee? 

I do not know the way; 



Thou knowest and tliou leadest 
And wilt not let me stray. 

I could not do without thee, 

Jesus, Savior dear! 

E'en wlien my eyes are holden, 

1 know that tliou art near. 
How dreary and how lonely 

This cliangeful life would be 
Without the sweet communion. 
The secret rest, with thee! 

I could not do without thee: 

No other friend can read 
The spirit's strange, deep longings, 

Interpreting its need; 
No human heart could enter 

Eacli dim recess of mine, 
And soothe and hush and calm it, 

O blessed Lord, but thine. 

I could not do without thee; 

For years are fleeting fast, 
And soon, in solemn loneliness. 

The river must be passed. 
But tliou wilt never leave me, 

And thougli the waves roll high, 
I know thou wilt be near me, 

And wliisper, "It is I." 

Fbances Ridley IIavebqal. 



VESPER HYMN. 

The day is done; the weary day of thought 
and toil is past; 

Soft falls the twiliglit cool and gray on the 
tired eartli at last: 

By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest 
friends oppressed. 

In tliee alone the soul, outworn, refresh- 
ment finds, and rest. 

Bend, gracious Spirit, from above, llko 

these o'erarching skies. 
And to thy firmament of love lift up these 

longing eyes; 
And folded by thy sheltering hand, in 

refuge still and deep. 
Let blessed thoughts from tliee descend, as 

drop the dews of sleep. 

And when refreshed the soul once more 
puts on new life and power. 

Oh, let thine image. Lord, alone gild the 
first waking hour! 

Let thy dear presence dawn and glow, 
fairer than morn's first ray. 

And thy pure radiance overflow the splen- 
dor of the day. 

So in the hastening evening, so in the com- 
ing morn. 

When deeper slumber shall be given, and 
fresher life be born. 

Shine out, true light! to guide my way 
amid that deepening gloom; 

And rise, O Morning Star! the first that 
daysprlng to illume. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Supplication, Prayer. 



495 



I can not dread the darkness where thou 

wilt watch o'er me, 
Nor smile to greet the sunrise unless thy 

smile I see; 
Creator, Savior, Comforter! on thee my 

soul is cast. 
At morn, at night, in earth, in heaven, be 

thou my first and last! 

Eliza Scuddqr. 



SAVIOR, PILOT ME. 

Jesus, Savior, pilot me 
Over life's tempestuous sea; 
Unknown rock and treacherous shoal; 
Chart and compass came from thee: 
Jesus, Savior, pilot me. 

■VVlien the apostle's fragile bark 
Struggled with the billows dark 
On the stormy Galilee, 
Thou didst walk upon the sea; 
And when they beheld thy form, 
Safe they glided through the storm. 

As a mother stills her child. 
Thou canst hush the ocean wild; 
Boisterous waves obey thy will 
■When thou sayest to them, "Be still." 
"Wondrous Sovereign of the sea, 
Jesus, Savior, pilot me- 

When at last I near the shore. 
And the fearful breakers roar 
'Twixt me and the peaceful rest, 
Then, while leaning on thy breast, 
May I hear thee say to me, 
"Fear not; I will pilot thee." 

Edward Hoppeb, 



JUST FOR TODAY. 

Just for today, my Savior — 
Tomorrow is not mine — 

Just for today I ask thee 

For light and help divine; 

Tomorrow's care I must not bear; 
The future is all thine. 

Today I bring my measure 

To thee, that thou mightst fill 

And bless it. Lord, and teach me 
To trust and to be still. 

Today I'd be, my God, for thee, 
And do thy holy will. 

Just for today, my Savior; 

For ere the morrow break. 
Thy voice may call me unto thee. 

And I shall no more walk 
The desert path with need of faith, 

But face to face shall talk. 

And if I have enough, Lord, 
Today, why should I grieve 



Because of what I have not. 
And may not need to have. 

Each day, I pray thee, have thy way. 
And 1 will trust thy love. 



A SWEET REFUGE. 

I know a little land-locked bay 
For souls upon a stormy sea: 

What light on all the hills around! 
What songs of birds in every tree! 

No billows roll, no rocks do rend, 

No wildly wrecking winds are there; 

But tiny ripples whisper, "Peace." 

That little land-locked bay is Prayer. 



ONE DAY. 

The weary one had rest, the sad had joy 
that day, 

And wondered how? 
A plowman singing at his work had prayed, 
"Lord, help them now." 

Away in foreign lands they wondered how 
Their feeble words had power. 

At home the Christians, two or three had 
met. 

To pray an hour. 

Yes, we are always wondering, wondering 
how, 

Because we do not see 
Some one, unknown perhaps, and far away. 

On bended knee. 



THE TIME FOR PRAYER. 

■When is the time for prayer? 

With the first beams that light the morn- 
ing sky. 
Ere for the toils of day thou doLt prepare. 

Lift up thy thoughts on high; 
Commend thy loved ones to his watchful 

care: 
Morn is the time for prayer. 

And in the noontide hour. 

If worn by toll or by sad cares op- 
pressed. 
Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour. 

And he will give thee rest; 
Thy voice shall reach him through the 

fields of air: 
Noon is the time for prayer. 

When the bright sun hath set. 

While eve's bright colors deck the skies; 
■When with the loved at home again thou 
hast met, — 
Then let thy prayers arise 
For those who in thy joys and sorrows 

share: 
Eve Is the time for prayer. 



496 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And when tlie stars come forth ; 

When to the trusting heart sweet hopes 
are given. 
And the deep stillness of the hour gives 
birth 
To pure, bright dreams of heaven, — 
Kneel to thy God. ask strength life's ills 

to bear: 
Night is the time for prayer. 



When is the time for prayer? 

In every hour, while life is spared to 
thee; 
In crowds or solitude, in joy or care. 

Thy thoughts should heavenward flee. 
At home, at morn and eve, with loved ones 

there, 
Bend thou the knee In prayer. 



SUBMISSION, CONSECRATION, TRUST. 



THE POWER OF THE CROSS. 

res, I was living to myself — was dead: 
Self, with its hopes and dreams, was all I 

had: 
But soon the Lord fulfilled my prayer to 

know 
The power of his cross — 'twas death beluw. 
I asked contrition, and he sent me pain; 
For purity, but anguish came again. 
I asked I might be meek; he broke my 

heart. 
I asked — I know not what — the better part; 
I asked to know what death was to the 

world. 
And quickly all my living hopes were 

spoiled. 
I asked to be like him, his image bear; 
It lacerated me, the wounds I wear. 
I blindly prayed, not knowing how nor 

what; 
He took me at my word — it mattered not. 

Then I began to shrink from following near. 
And well-nigh prayed him to depart, 

through fear; 
To suffer was not pleasing to the flesh. 
I feared to pray, lest suffering come afresh. 
But I had gone too far — on I must go — 
The virtues of his cross had charmed me 

so. 
In me his promise now fuJfiUed must be: 
"I, lifted up, will draw all men to me." 
Ah! I had only heard of love, but now 
I feel it — oh! I feel its fervent glow. 
He fastened on me such a look of love. 
Withering to self — tender, all words above. 
Follow I must, whatever may betide; 
I love the cross; I shelter in his side — 
That riven side, from which the glory 

beams, 
AVhence life and healing flow in living 

streams. 

Only by gazing I become like him. 

His name shines out through me; he dwells 

■within. 
My calling is to live with him alone. 
Unlike all others, lacking what they own; 
Content to be by all the world despised. 
Knowing that I by him am loved and 

prized; 
Content to be like him, and call him mine. 
In fellowship ineffable, divine: 
Happy to lose the brighter portion here, 
That I may gain the weight of glory there; 
Happy that when I well-nigh turned away, 



His hand was on me, would not let me 

stray; 
Happy to know that he does all in love- 
To bear the cross below, the crown above; 
Happy that not my will, but his be done; 
Happy in prospect of tlie rest of home. 



SATISFIED. 

I can not say. 
Beneath the pressure of life's cares today, 

"I joy in these"; 

But I can say 
That I would rather walk the rugged way 

If Him it please. 

I can not :''eel 
Tliat all is vvell when darkening clouds con- 
ceal 

The shining sun; 

But then I know 
God lives and loves: can say, since it is so, 

"Thy will be done." 

I do not see 
Why God should e'er permit some things to 
be 

WTien he is love; 

But I can see, 
Though often dimmed through mystery. 

His hand above. 

I can not speak 
In happy tones — the tear-drops on my cheek 

Show I am sad; 

But I can speak 
Of grace to suffer with submission meek 

Until made glad. 

I do not look 
Upon the present or in nature's book, 

To read my fate; 

But I do look 
For promised blessings in God's holy book, 

And I can wait. 

I may not try 
Tn keep the hot tears back, but hush the 
sigh, 

"It might have been," 
And try to still 
All rising murmurs, and to God's sweet will 
Respond, "Amen!" 



POEMS OF RELIGION — Submission, Consecration, Trust. 497 



GOD KNOWETH BEST. 

When softly falls the dew at eventide. 

Then, tired, w© lay ourselves away to 
rest; 

Confiding in the One who knoweth best. 
We trust in him and nothing else beside. 

What if dark demons oft attack our soul. 
And friends forsake, and parents look 

with scorn? 
We'll trust in God; hell keep from every 
harm. 
We'll live for him while endless ages roll. 

WTiat if misfortune comes? It comes to all; 

Look ye on him who died upon a tree; 

Acquaint thyself with One who mourned 
for thee. 
And trust In him whate'er thy life befall. 

Some day we'll reach that land of peace 
and rest. 
Behold our loved ones who have gone be- 
fore, 
Enjoy the beauties of that climo forever- 
more. 
Because we trusted him who knoweth best. 
J. Gbant Andbbsox. 



"cumbered about much serv- 
ing." 

Luke 10: 40-42. 

Christ never asks of us such heavy labor 
As leaves no time for resting at his feet; 

The waiting attitude of expectation 

He ofttimes counts a service most com- 
plete. 

He sometimes wants our ear, our rapt at- 
tention. 
That he some sweetest secret may Im- 
part: 
•Tis always in the time of deepest still- 
ness 
That heart finds deepest fellowship with 
heart. 

We sometimes wonder why our Lord doth 
place us 
Within a sphere so narrow, so obscure. 
That nothing we call work can find an en- 
trance; 
There's only room to suffer — to endure! 

Well, God loves patience! Souls that dwell 
in stillness. 

Doing the little things or resting quite. 
May Just as perfectly fulfil their mission, 

Be just as useful in the Father's sight. 

As they who grapple with some giant evil. 
Clearing a path that every eye may see; 

Our Savior cares for cheerful acquiescence. 
Rather than for a busy ministry. 



And yet he does love service when 'tis 
given 
By grateful love that clothes itself in 
deed; 
But work that's done beneath the scourge 
of duty — 
Be sure, to such he gives but little heed. 

Then seek to please him, whatsoe'er he bids 
thee. 

Whether to do, to suffer, or lie still; 
'Twill matter little by what patu he led us. 

If In it all we sought to do his will. 



THE CHANGED CROSS. 

It was a time of sadness, and my heart. 
Although it knew and loved the better part, 
Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife. 
And all the needful discipline of life. 

And while I thought on these, as given to 

me — ■ , 

My trial tests of faith and love to be — 
It seemed as if 1 never could be sure 
That faithful to the end I should endure. 

And thus, no longer trusting to his might 
W^lO says. "We walk by faith, and not by 

sight; 
Doubting, and almost yielding to despair, 
The thought arose. "My cross I can not 

bear. 

"Far heavier Its weight must surely be 
Than those of others which I daily see. 
Oh! if I might another burden choose, 
Methinks I should not fear my crown to 
lose." 



A solemn silence reigned on all around; 
E'en Nature's voices uttered not a sound; 
The evening shadows seemed of peace to 

tell. 
And sleep upon my weary spirit fell. 

A moment's pause — and then a heavenly 

light 
Beamed full upon my wondering, raptured 

sight: 
Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere. 
And angels' music thrilled the balmy air. 

Then One. more fair than all the rest to 

see — 
One to whom all the others bowed the 

knee — • 
Came gently to me as I trembling lay. 
And, "Follow me!" he said; "I am the 

way." 

Then, speaking thus, he led me far above; 
And there, beneath a canopy of love. 
Crosses of divers shape and size were seen. 
Larger and smaller than my own had been. 



498 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And one there was, most beauteous to be- 
hold, 

A little one, with jewels set in gold. 

"Ah! this," methought, "I can with comfort 
wear. 

For it will be an easy one to bear." 

And so tlie little cross I quickly took; 
But, all at once, my frame beneath it shook. 
The sparkling jewels — fair were they to see, 
But far too heavy was the weight for me. 

"This may not be," I cried; then looked 

again 
To see if there were any that could ease 

my pain. 
One by one I passed them slowly by. 
Till on a lovely one I cast mine eye. 

Fair flowers around its sculptured form en- 
twined, 

And grace and beauty seemed in it com- 
bined. 

Wondering, I gazed; and still I wondered 
more 

To think so many should have passed it 
o'er. 

But oh! that form so beautiful to see 

Soon made its hidden sorrows known to 
me; 

Thorns lay beneath those flowers and col- 
ors fair! 

Sorrowing, I said, "This cross I may not 
bear." 

And so it was with each and all around — 
Not one to suit my need could there be 

found. 
Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down, 
As my Guide gently said, "No cross, no 

crown!" 

At length to him I raised my saddened 

heart; 
He knew its sorrows, bid its doubts depart. 
"Be not afraid," he said, "but trust in me: 
My perfect love shall now be shown to 

thee." 

And then, with lightened eyes and willing 

feet, 
Again I turned, my earthly cross to meet, 
With forward footsteps, turning not aside, 
For fear some hidden evil might betide; 

And there— in the prepared, appointed way. 
Listening to hear, and ready to obey — 
A cross I quickly found of plainest form, 
With only words of love inscribed thereon 

With thankfulness I raised it from the 

rest. 
And joyfully acknowledged it the best — 
The only one of all the many there 
That I could feel was good for me to bear. 

And, while I thus my chosen one confessed, 
I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest; 
And as I bent, my burdens to sustain, 
I recognized my own old cross again. 



But oh, how difterent did it seem to be 
Now I had learned its preciousness to see! 
No longer could 1 unbelieving say, 
"Perhaps another Is a better way." 

Ah no! henceforth my own desire shall be 
That he who knows me best should choose 

for me; 
And so, whate'er his love sees good to send, 
I'll trust it's best, because he knows the 

end. 

MHS. CUARLBa HOBART. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 

Yesterday when I said, "Thy will be done," 
I know not what that will of thine would 
be, 
Wihat clouds would gather black across my 
sun. 
What storm and desolation waited me; 
I knew thy love would give me what was 

best. 
And I am glad I could not know the rest. 

This morning, praying, "As It Is in heaven," 
I did not dream what heavenly joy would 
come. 
Before the purple shadows of the even. 

To set its seal of blessing on my home. 
But all day long my watching eyes could 

sea 
Tliy gift of gladness coming home to me 

"Thy will be done," I say, and to the scroll 
Of unread years, consenting, set my 
name; 
Day after day their pages will unroll. 
In shining words that prove thy love the 
same. 
Until my years are gathered into one 
Eternal, sanctioned, "Thy will be done." 



GOD S ANVIL. 

Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers, 
God's breath upon the flame doth blow. 

And all my heart in anguish shivers 
And trembles at the fiery glow; 

And yet I whisper, "As God will!" 

And in his hottest fire hold still. 

He comes and lays my heart, all heated. 
On his hard anvil, minded so 

Into his own fair shape to beat it. 

With his great hammer, blow by blow; 

And yet I whisper, "As God will!" 

And 'neath his heaviest blows hold still. 

He takes my softened heart and beats It; 

The sparks fly off at every blow; 
He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it. 

And let's it cool, and makes It glow: 
And yet I whisper, "As God will!" 
And in his mighty hand hold still 



POEMS OF RELIGION^Submission, Consecration, Trust. 



499 



He kindles, for my profit purely, 
Aflliction'a glowing, fiery brand; 

For all his heaviest blows are surely 
Inflicted by a Master hand: 

So I say, praying, "As God will!" 

And hope in him, and suffer still. 

I will not mujmur at the sorrow 
That only longer-lived would be; 

The end may come, and that tomorrow, 
When God hath wrought his will in me; 

So I say, trusting, "As God will!" 

And, trusting to the end, hold still. 

Julius Stubn. 



SUBMISSION AND REST. 

The camel, at tlie close of day. 
Kneels down upon tlie sandy plain 
To have his burden lifted off 

And rest to gain. 

My soul, thou too shouldst to tliy knees 
When daylight draweth to a close. 
And let thy Master lift the load 

And grant repose. 

Else how couldst thou tomorrow meet. 
With all tomorrow's work to do, 
If thou thy burden all the night 

Dost carry through? 

The camel kneels at break of day 
To have his guide replace his load. 
Then rises up anew to take 

The desert road. 

So thou shouldst kneel at morning's dawn 
That God may give thee daily care, 
Assured that he no load too great 

Will make thee bear. 



MY JESUS. AS THOU WILT. 

My Jesus, as thou wilt! — oh, may thy will 
be mine! 

Into thy hand of love I would my all re- 
sign: 

Through sorrow or through Joy, conduct me 
as thine own, 

And help me still to say, "My Lord, thy 
will be done." 

My Jesus, as thou wilt! Though seen 
through many a tear. 

Let not my star of hope grow dim or dis- 
appear: 

Since thou on earth hast wept, and sor- 
rowed oft alone. 

If I must weep with thee, my Lord, thy 
will be done. 

My Jesus, as thou wilt! All shall be well 

for me; 
Each changing future scene I gladly trust 

with thee: 



Then to my home above I travel calmly on. 
And sing, in life or death, "My Lord, thy 

will be done." 
From ScHMOLKB, translateil by Miss Bobtuwick. 



ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE 
DEEP. 

Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 
I lay me down in peace to sleep; 
Secure I rest upon the wave. 
For thou, O Lord, hast power to save. 

I know thou wilt not slight my call. 
For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall; 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep. 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 

And such the trust that still were mine, 
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine, 
Or though the tempest's fiery breath 
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death. 

In ocean's caves still safe with thee, 
The germ of immortality; 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep. 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep. 

Emma Willibd. 



THE REFINER S FIRE. 

I will refiue tbem as stiver is refined, and will Xvy 
them as gold is tried, — Zech. 13; 9. 

He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver. — 
Mai. 3: 3. 

Ha sat by a furnace of sevenfold heat, 
As Ho watched by the precious ore. 

And closer He bent with a searching gaze 
As He heated it more and more. 

He knew He had ore that could stand the 
test. 

And He wanted the finest gold 
To mold as a crown for the King to wear. 

Set with gems of a price untold. 

Sc He laid our gold in the burning fire. 
Though we fain would have said him 
nay; 
And He watched the dross that we had not 
seen. 
As it melted and passed away. 

And the gold grew brighter and yet more 
bright. 

But our eyes were so dim with tears, 
We saw but the fire — not the Master's hand. 

And questioned with anxious fears. 

Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow. 
As it mirrored a Form above, 

That bent o'er the fire though unseen by us, 
With looks of ineffable love. 

Can we think that it pleases His loving 
heart 
To cause us a moment's pain? 



500 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Ah no! but He saw through the present 
crosa 
Tha bliss of eternal gain. 

So He waited there with watchful ej-e, 
With a love that is strong and sure, 

And His gold did not suffer a. whit more 
heat 
Than was needed to make it pure. 



I WILL FEAR NO EVIL. 

Thy way. not mine, O Lord, 

However dark it be; 
Lead me by thine own hand; 

Choose out the path for me. 

Smooth let it be or rough, 

It will be still the best; 
Winding or straight, it matters not. 

It leads me to thy rest. 

I dare not choose my lot; 

I would not, if I might; 
Choose thou for me, my God, 

So shall I walk aright. 

Tlie kingdom that I seek 

Is thine; so let the way 
That leads to it be thine. 

Else I must surely stray. 

Take thou my cup, and It 

With joy or sorrow fill. 
As best to thee may seem; 

Choose thou my good and ill. 

Choose thou for me, my friend. 
My sickness and my health; 

Choose thou my cares for me. 
My poverty or wealth. 

Not mine, not mine, the choice, 
In things or great or small; 

Be thou my guide, my strength. 
My wisdom, and my all. 

H0BATIU3 BONAR. 



A GERMAN TRUST SONG. 

Just as God leads me I would go; 

I would not ask to choose my way: 
Content with what he will bestow, 

Assured he will not let me stray. 
So as he leads, my path I make, 
And step by step I gladly take. 
A child in him confiding. 

Just as God leads. I am content; 

I rest me calmly in his hands; 
That which he has decreed and sent. 

That which his will for me commands, 
I would that he should all fulfil, 
That I should do his gracious will 
In living or in dying. 



Just as God leads, I all resign; 

I trust me to my Fathers will; 
When reason's rays deceptive shine. 

His counsel would I yet fulfil; 
That which his love ordained as right 
Before he brought me to the light. 
My all to him resigning. 

Just as God leads me, I abide 

In faith, in hope, in suffering, true; 

His strength is ever by my side — 
Can aught my hold on him undo? 

I hold me firm in patience, knowing 

That God my life is still bestowing — 
The best in kindness sending. 

Just as God leads, I onward go, 
Oft amid thorns and briers keen; 

God does not yet his guidance show. 
But in the end it shall be seen 

How by a loving father's will. 

Faithful and true he leads me still: 

Thus anchored, faith is resting. 

LiMPKKTU3, 1735. 



CONSECRATION. 

^^'Tlile we choose, we are not willing: 

Consecration yieldeth all; 
Consecration means obedience 

To the Spirit's every call; 

Meaneth dying, meaneth living, 
(Death of self and life in God); 

Meaneth work or patient waiting. 
Or submission 'neath the rod; 

Meaneth such a full surrender 
We shall never dare to ask 

Why he gives our faith such testing. 
Or assigns so hard a task. 

We are here to be perfected; 

Only God our needs can see. 
Rarest gems bear hardest grinding; 

God's own workmanship are we 



BRILLIANTS. 

What God appoints, enjoj'; 

■Wliat he withholds, forbear: 
Each care a hidden blessing brings. 

Each blessing brings a care. 



I can not read his future plans, 

Bu.t this I know: 
I have the smiling of his face 
And all the refuge of his grace 
While here below. 

Enougli; this covers all my wants, 

And so I rest: 
For what I can not. he can see, 
And In his care I safe shall be. 

Forever blest- 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Submission, Consecration, Trust. 



501 



ALL THE WAY. 

All the way through life's dark journey 

Wandered I alone and sad; 
Filled with pride and fond ambition, 

Naught of joy or peace I had. 
Then there came a gentle whisper, 

"Wanderer, no longer stray. 
I will satisfy your longings 

If you'll follow all the way." 

"All the way," my lips repeated. 

While I turned me quickly round, 
Saw my Savior's blood-stained footprints 

He had left upon the ground 
Saw his visage marred by sorrow 

Saw the thorns he wore one day. 
Saw the way from earth to glory — 

"Lord, I'll follow all the way." 

"All the way," untried before me. 

Knowing not where it should lead, 
Whether thickly strewn with flowers 

Or with brier, thorn, and weed; 
^NTietlier billows foamed before me. 

Daylight reigned or dismal niglit, — 
"All the way," again I whispered, 

"Through the darkness or the light." 

"All the way" — far up in heaven, 

Angels singing round the throne 
Stopped to hear the faltering message 

■SV^afted to their shining home: 
There was joy that night among them, 

So the story we are told; 
For another lamb was sheltered 

Safe within the Shepherd's fold. 

"All the way " — then just before me 

Opened wide the furnace door. 
And the fiery flames rose upward 

As they did in days of yore 
When the three unyielding Hebrews 

Walked, rejoicing in their shame, 
And the Fourth then walked beside them — 

Glory be unto his name! 

Then I thought of burning martyrs 

As I felt its fiery breath. 
Till it seemed my feet were treading 

On the threshold strong of death; 
But I heard a gentle whisper 

As through furnace flame I trod, 
And I saw a form beside me — 

Lo! 'twas like the Son of God. 

"All the way!" — oh, words seraphic. 

Coming through the sickening heat! 
"Fear thou not, for I am with thee" — 

Words most wonderful, most sweet — 
"That the gold may shine the brighter, 

All the dross must be removed. 
I will take thee from the furnace 

When thy faithfulness I've proved." 

At his feet I fell to worship. 

Bowed in sweet submission there. 
And the furnace seemed a palace 

With my blessed Savior near. 
"Take my all, dear Lord, and use me 

As the potter did the clay"; 
And his glory showered o'er me 

As I added, "All the way." 



Once again I saw his visage 

Marred by sorrow, grief, and care, 
And my heart became a mirror 

With his image pictured there. 
"Ah, my child, since tliou wilt humbly 

Share with me the bitter cup, 
I will dwell within tliy temple 

And forever with thee sup." 

Then the door swung widely open, 

Forth I stepped with joy untold. 
For the dross while in the furnace 

Had been taken from the gold. 
"Father, I will ever trust thee. 

Ever say thy way is best; 
All thy works are done in wisdom; 

I will wait on thee and rest. 

"All the way!" again I whispered. 

Fearing not the furnace flame 
Nor the storms of life surrounding; 

"I will suffer for thy name. 
Tliough I walk amid the shadows. 

Thou wilt turn my night to day. 
Lead me. Lord, from earth to glory; 

I will follow all the way." 

Clara .M. Brooks 



MY WORK. 

"Send me, and I will go. 

To bear thy message into heathen lands," 
Thus cried my heart. The Master an- 
swered, "No; 
Not such the work which waits thy will- 
ing hands. 
Yet there is work which all tliy strength 
demands. " 

My fingers grasped the pen — 

"Then will I write, and tell the world 
of thee." 
He let me try, too gentle to condemn 
My hasty zeal, but led me soon to see 
That this was not the work assigned to 
me. 

I dropped the pen and sighed, 

"What is it, Lord? Wita.t wouldst tiiou 
have me do?" 
He bade me look, and lo! on every side 
Some care, some duty, rose to meet my 

view. 
And yet among them all was nothing 
new; 

But duties which my heart 

Had often shrank from, craving some- 
thing higher. 
"Herein," he said, "do faithfully thy part, 
And thou shall truly have thy heart's 
desire." 

And Joyfully I said, 

"Thy will be done"; then every service 
grew 
Holy and beautiful; and when the shade 
Of sorrow settled over me, I knew 
That patient suffering served my Master 
too. 

Mrs. M. J. B. Obawtobd. 



502 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



TRUSTING. 

Here on this neck of land 

I stand. 

The ocean breaks with sullen roar; 

Its white-capped waves dash on the shore, 

And, parting^, sink to rise no more. 

A stormy restless sea 

Taunts me! 

On either hand skies, waters meet. 

Without one sail my eyes to greet, 

While rising tides wash o'er my feet. 

I walked with backward tread. 

He led 

Me through the stretch of fertile land, 

Through barren wastes of rock and sand. 

And here I wait — wait his command. 

Waiting, his love I fully trust. 
I must! 

I know his hand will set me free. 
And though the way I can not see, 
I know his love is guiding me. 

Eliza L. Martin. 



Bids all the dead before thee stand. 
Awakening from the dust. 
Beholding thee. 
What bliss 'twill be, 

With all thy saints to spend eternity! 



MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 

My times are in Thy hand: 

I know not what a day. 
Or e'en an hour, may bring to me; 
But I am safe while trusting Thee, 
Though all things fade away. 
All weakness, I 
On Him rely 
Wlio fixed the earth and spread the starry 
sky. 

My times are In thy hand: 

Pale poverty' or w'ealth. 
Corroding care or calm repose. 
Spring's balmy breath of winter's. 
Sickness or buoyant health — 
Whate'er betide. 
If God provide, 
'Tis for the best; I ask no lot beside. 

My times are in thy hand: 

Many or few mj- days, 
I leave with thee — this only pray 
That by thy grace. I every day 
Devoting to thy praise. 
May ready be 
To welcome thee 
Whene'er thou comest to set my spirit free. 

My times are in thy hand: 

Howe'er those times may end — 
Sudden or slow my soul's release. 
Midst anguish, frenzy, or in peace — 
I'm safe with Christ, my Friend; 
If he is nigh, 
Howe'er I die, 
■Twill be the dawn of heavenly ecstasy. 

My times are in thy hand: 

To thee I can entrust 
My slumbering clay till thy command 



A DOOR MAT. 

We can not all be corner-stones, 

Or panels on the door, 
Or pillars; for there needs must be 

A door-mat on the floor. 

It's easy, when we need a light 

Or dainty little vase. 
To find some one who says he's "called 

To fill that very place." 

It's nice to be a sculpture-piece 
That's noticed by the score. 

But who is ready to be wiped 
By feet, outside the door? 

Some people are as true as steel! 

Wlien position keeps them there. 
But who's as true when duty calls 

To take a lower chair? 

And others wish to rise and shine 
With laurels by the score. 

But these must first consent to be 
A door-mat on the floor. 

And those who make a door-mat true 

Will rise to higher grades; 
God has his honors for the few 

Who will not choose their places. 



GOD KNOWETH. 

I know not what awaits me; 

God kindly veils mine eyes, 
And o'er each step of my onward way 

He makes new scenes to rise; 
And every joy he sends me comes 

A sweet and glad surprise. 

Where he may lead I'll follow. 

My trust in him repose; 
And every hour in perfect peace 

I'll sing, "He knows, he knows." 

One step I see before me; 

'Tis all I need to see; 
The light of heaven more brightly shines 

When earth's illusions flee; 
And sweetly through the silence came 

His loving "Follow me." 

Oh, blissful lack of wisdom! 

'Tis blessed not to know: 
He holds me with his own right hand. 

And will not let me go, 
And lulls my troubled soul to rest 

In him who loves me so. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Submission, Consecration, Trust. 



503 



So on I go not knowing; 

I would not if I miglit: 
I'd rather walk in the dark with God 

Than go alone in the light; 
I'd rather walk by faith with him 
Than go alone by sight. 

MBS. Mabt G. Beai.naed. 
Cbanged by P. P. Buss. 



JESUS, I LL GO THROUGH WITH 
THEE. 

I have made my choice forever; 

I will walk with Christ my Lord; 
Naught from him my soul can sever. 

While I'm trusting in his Word. 
I the lonely way have taken. 

Rough and toilsome though it be. 
And although despised, forsaken, 

Jesus, I'll go through with thee. 

Though the garden lies before me, 

And the scornful judgment-hall; 
Though the gloom of deepest midnight 

Settles round me like a pall. 
Darkness can affright me never; 

From thy presence shadows flee: 
And if thou wilt guide me ever, 

Jesus, I'll go through with thee. 

Though the earth may rock and tremble, 

Though the sun may hide its face, 
Though my foes be strong and ruthless, 

Still 1 dare to trust thy grace; 
Though the cross my path o'ershadow. 

Thou didst bear it once for me. 
And whate'er the pain of peril, 

JeBUS, I'll go through with thee. 

■WHien the conflict here is ended. 

And tlie weary journey done; 
When the last grim foe is conquered. 

And the final victory won; 
Wlien the pearly gates swing open. 

And an entrance full and free 
Shall be granted to the victors. — 

Jesus, I'll go through with thee. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 

I can not always see the way that leads 

To heights above; 
I sometimes quite forget that He leads on 

With hands of love; 
But yet I know the path must lead me to 

Immanuel's land. 
And when I reach life's summit, I shall 
know 

And understand. 

I can not always trace the onward course 

My ship must take; 
But, looking backward, I behold afar 

Its shining wake 
Illumined with God's light of love; and so 

I onward go. 



In perfect trust that he who holds the helm 
The course must know. 

I can not always see the plan on which 

He builds my life; 
For oft the sound of hammers, blow on 
blow. 

The noise of strife. 
Confuse me till I quite forget he knows 

And oversees. 
And that in all details with his good plan 

My life agrees. 

I can not always know and understand 

The Master's rule; 
I can not always do the tasks he gives 

In life's hard school; 
But I am learning, with his help, to solve 

Them one by one. 
And when I can not understand, to say, 

"Thy will be done." 



CHISEL-WORK. 

'Tis the Master who holds the mallet, 

And day by day 
He Is clipping whatever environs 

The form away; 
Which, under his skilful cutting. 

He means shall be 
Wrought silently out to beauty 

Of such degree 
Of faultless and full perfection 

That angel eyes 
Shall look on the finished labor 

With new surprise. 
That even his boundless patience 

Could grave his own 
Features upon such fractured, 

Stubborn stone. 

'Tis the Master who holds the chisel; 

He knows just where 
Its edge should be driven sharpest. 

To fashion tliere 
The semblance that he is carving; 

Nor will he let 
One delicate stroke too many 

Or few be set 
On forehead or cheek, where only 

He sees how all 
Is tending and where tlie hardest 

The blow should fall, 
■Which crumbles away whatever 

Superfluous line 
Would hinder his hand from making 

The work Divine. 

With tools of thy choosing. Master, 

I pray thee then, 
Strike just as thou wilt, as often 

And where and when. 
The vehement stroke is needed; 

I will not mind 
If only thy clipping chisel 

Shall leave behind 
Such marks of thy wondrous working 

And loving skill. 



504 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



When discipline's hands are over. 
Have all sufflced 

To mold me into the likeness 

And form of Christ. 



BEYOND TODAY. 

If w© could see beyond today, 

As God can see; 
If all the clouds should roll away, 

The shadows flee, — 
O'er present griefs we would not fret, 
Sach sorrow we would soon forget, 
For many Joys are waiting yet 

For you and me. 

If we could know beyond today. 

As God doth know. 
Why dearest treasures pass away 

And tears must flow. 
And why the darkness leads to light. 
Why dreary paths will soon grow bright- - 
Some day life's wrongs will be made right; 

Faith tells us so. 

"If we would see! If we could know! " 

Wo often say; 
But God in love a veil doth tlirow 

Across our way; 
We can not see what lies before. 
And so we cling to him the more. 
He leads us till this life is o'er; 

Trust and obey. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

"Disappointment — His appointment " : 

Change one letter, then I see 
That the thwarting of my purpose 

Is God's better choice for me. 
His appointment must be blessing. 

Though it may come in disguise; 
For the end from the beginning 

Open to his wisdom lies. 

"Disappointment — His appointment" : 

Whose? The Lord's who loves me best, 
Understands and knows me fully, 

Who my faith and love would test; 
For, like loving earthly parent. 

He rejoices when he knows 
That his child accepts, unquestioned. 

All that from his wisdom flows. 

"Disappointment — His appointment" : 

"No good thing will he withhold"; 
From denials we oft gather 

Treasures of his love untold. 
Well he knows each broken purpose 

Leads to fuller, deeper trust. 
And the end of all his dealings 

Proves our God is wise and just. 

"Disappointment — His appointment": 
Lord, I take it, then, as such. 



Like the clay in Iiands of potter. 
Yielding wholly to thy touch. 

All my life's plan is thy molding; 
Not one single clioice be mine; 

Let me answer, unrepining, 

"Father, not my will, but thine." 

"Disappointment— His appointment" : 

Change the letter, then, dear friend; 
Take in cheerful acquiescence 

AU thy Father's love may send. 
Soon will faith be lost in vision; 

Then in glory thou shalt see 
"His appointment," and that only. 

Was the right way home for thee. 



TAKE ME, BREAK ME. MAKE ME. 

Take me, O Lord, for I am but the clay 

That lies unused upon a dusty shelf; 
I can not move to meet thy blessed hand, 

So weak am I and powerless in myself; 
I can but cry for thee with helpless moan. 

And ask thee so to work upon my soul 
That I shall let my painful struggles cease 

And yield my hapless life to tliy control. 

Break me, O Lord, for hard hath grown the 
clay. 
Until no pliability remains; 
Let thine own Angers crumble me to dust. 
Till naught of former shape the clay re- 
tains. 
The vessel on the wheel was sadly marred; 
Some trace of self-life spoiled the Pot- 
ter's art; 
Then sift the scattered dust with searching 
eye. 
And satisfy my broken, contrite heart. 

Make me, O Lord, with ihine own bleeding 
hands. 
And streams of grace will moisten and 
unite 
The broken dust again to yielding clay. 

No more to struggle and resist thy might. 
Then, take and break and make until, so 
formed. 
The heavenly Potter calls his work com- 
plete. 
And in his image fair hath fashioned me, 
A vessel for the Master's use made meet. 

CaRBIB JUDD MONTOOUIOII. 



NOT AS I WILL. 

Blindfolded and alone I stand 
With unknown thresholds on each hand. 
The darkness deepens as I grope. 
Afraid to fear, afraid to hope; 

Yet this one thing I learn to know. 

Each day more surely as I go. 

That doors are opened, ways are made. 

Burdens are lifted or are laid 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Submission, Consecration, Trust. 505 



By some great law unseen and still, 
Unfathomed purpose to fulfil, 
"Not as I will." 

Blindfolded and alone I wait; 

Loss seems too bitter, gain too late; 

Too heavy burdens in the load, 

And too few helpers on the road; 
And joy is weak, and grief is strong. 
And years and days so long, so long; 
Yet this one thing I learn to know, 
Each day more surely as I go, 
That I am glad the good and ill 
By changeless law are ordered still, 
"Not as I will " 

"Xot as I will" — the sound grows sweet 
T^ach time my lips the words repeat. 
"Xot as I will" — the darkness feels 
More safe than light when this thought 
steals 
Like whispered voice to calm and bless 
All unrest and all loneliness. 
"Not as I v/ill," because the One 
■VVHio loved us first and best has gone 
Before us on the road, and still 
For mo must all his love fulfil, 
"Not as we will." 

Helen- Hunt Jackson. 



GOD S ANSWER. 

I prayed for action, and with folded hands, 
God bade me wait, and watch the world 
sweep by; 
I prayed for health, and lol with pain- 
wrought hands. 
He doomed me on unwelcome couch to lie. 

For wealth I prayed, and ate the scanty 
crust 
Of poverty and want with scornful soul; 
And as I lay. unconquered, in the dust. 
The one I hated most passed on and won 
the goal. 

I prayed for peace, and duty's bugle smote 
"With call to arms my too reluctant ear. 

As when in Lethean dreams we float 
.\nd, shrieking, rise to face a danger near. 

At last, storm-tossed, I prayed that God 
from me 
Withholding all, liimself would deign to 
give: 
All other gifts as nothingness should be 
If, in my life his .gracious presence would 
live 

And then — oh, golden wonder, long un- 
guessed! — 
Peace, wealth, and all I'd learned to hold, 
wera mine. 



Who takes the Lord in union to his breast 
Tlie lesser joys can ne'er again repine. 
Eva Williams Malonb. 



THE MASTER S TOUCH. 

In the still air the music lies unheard; 

In the rough marble beauty hides unseen; 
To make the music and the beauty needs 

The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel 
keen. 

Great Master, touch us with thy skilful 
hand; 

Let not the music that is in us die! 
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us, nor let. 

Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie! 

Spare not the stroke! do with us as thou 

wilt! 

Let there be naught unfinished, broken, 

marred; 

Complete thy purpose, that we may become 

Thy perfect image, O our God and Lord! 

HOKATIUS BONAK. 



GOD S WAY IS BEST. 

God's way is best; if human wisdom 
A fairer way may seem to show, 

'Tis only that our earth-dimmed vision 
The truth can never clearly know. 

Had I the choosing of my pathway. 
In blindness I should go astray. 

And wander far away in darkness. 
Nor reach that land of endless day. 

He leadeth true; I will not question 

Though through the valley I shall go. 

Though I should pass through clouds of 
trial. 
And drink the cup of human woe. 

Gods way is best; heart, cease thy etrug- 
.glins 

To see and know and understand; 
Forsake thy fears and doubts, but trusting. 

Submit thyself into his hand. 

God's way is best; I will not murmur, 
Althougli the pnd I may not see; 

Where'er he leads I'll meekly follow: 
God's way is best, is best for me. 

Thy way is best, so lead me onward: 

My all I give to thy control: 
Thy loving hand will truly guide me. 

And safe to glory bring my soul. 

C. W. Natlor. 



506 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 

HEAVEN, IMMORTALITY. 



THE IMMORTAL SPIRIT. 

This spirit shall return to Him 

That gave its lieavenly spark; 
Yet think not. Sun, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark. 
No! it shall live again and shine 
In bliss unknown to beams of thine — 

By Him recalled to breath 
Who captive led captivity, 
WTio robbed the grave of victory. 

And took the sting from death. 

Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up 

On nature's awful waste, 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man shall taste — 
Go tell the night that hides thy face, 
Thou sawest the last of Adam's race, 

On earth's sepulchral clod, 
The darkening universe defy 
To quench his Immortality 

Or shake his trust in God. 

Thomas Campbell. 



WHERE ARE THE DEAD? 

"Where are the dead?" I asked the silent 
grave. 

No answer from its cold, dark chamber, 
save 

The voiceless tomb the hollow echo sent 

Enquiringly to me, as if intent. 

"Where are the dead?" Agnostics multi- 
plied 

Searched wide in vain; exhausted then, the.i' 
died. 

The wrinkled skeptic, bent with worldl..' 
care. 

But shook his hoary head in deep despair. 

"In Purgatory's woes," the priestcraft 
urged. 

"The leper's spots, though vile, will all be 
purged." 

Lo! with the sweep of swiftly passing 
years 

Time rushed earth's millions through this 
vale of tears 

Till at the threshold of eternity 

Death snatched them from his arms, to des- 
tiny. 

I asked tiim if he knew. He shook his head. 

"We sever at the grave," at last he said. 

"This, twenty thousand million asked of 
me — 

I led them swiftly to eternity." 

Eternity! I looked — Time stood between 

And veiled it with a mighty screen. 

Still on my search, at last I asked the Word, 

And from its hallowed pages, ah! I heard 

The Savior's voice: "This very day with me 

In paradise thy ransomed soul shall be." 

The rich, ill-fated man I asked. "This flame! 

This flame!" he shrieked. I shuddered as 
it came. 



Paul answered next, "My fight of faith ia 

o'er; 
A crown of life is waiting on that shore." 
Beloved John replied, "In yonder skies, 
I saw a blessed place called paradise. 
Redeemed of every kindred, tongue, and 

name, 
Beneath the altar, everlasting praise pro- 
claim. 
Below, I heard a demon's hideous yell — 
That echoed through the corridors of hell; 
I saw the spoils of every nation pour 
Into a lake that burns forevermore." 

o. P. Linn. 



WAITING AND WATCHING FOR ME. 

When my final farewell to the world I have 
said 

And gladly lie down to my rest; 
When softly the watchers shall say, "He 
is dead," 

And fold my pale hands o'er my breast; 
And when, with my glorified vision at last 

The walls of "that city" I see, — 
Will any one then at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me? 
Will any one then at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me? 

There are little ones glancing about in my 
path 
In want of a friend and a guide; 
There are dear little eyes looking up into 
mine. 
Whose tears might be easily dried. 
But Jesus may beckon the children away 
In the midst of their grief and their 
glee — 
Win any of them at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watcliing for me? 
Will any of them at the beautiful gate 
Be waiting and watching for me? 

There are old and forsaken who linger a, 
while 

In homes which their dearest have left, 
And a few gentle words or an action of love 

May cheer their sad spirits bereft. 
But the Reaper is near to the long-stand- 
ing corn: 

Tiie weary will soon be set free — 
Will any of them at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me? 
W^Ill any of them at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me? 

Oh! should I be brought there by the boun- 
tiful grace 
Of Him who delights to forgive, 
Though I bless not the weary about in my 
path, 
Pray only for self while I live, — 
Methinks I should mourn o'er my sinful 
neglect — 



POEMS OF RELIGION — Heaven, Immortality. 



507 



If sorrow in heaven can be — 
Should no one I love, at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me; 
Should no one I love, at the beautiful gate 

Be waiting and watching for me. 

Mariannu Usarn. 



THE PROMISED LAND. 

There is a land by faith I've seen 

■Wliere skies no clouded regions know; 

Where fields of verdure wave serene 
And Sharon's fragrant roses grow. 

No shadows fall to blight the view 
Where realms ambrosial ever bloom: 

No mourner's tears the eye bedew 
Where Zion's hills the air perfume. 

Life-giving streams there gently flow 
That never dry through endless time. 

And on their banks perennial grow 
The fairest fruit in Eden clime. 

That country has a city bright, 

Wliose streets are paved with purest gold; 
No need of sun to give it light, — 

Its light the Lamb by sevenfold. 

That land no want has ever known, 
Nor pain nor sickness nor distress; 

Its dwellers 'neath no burdens groan 
That anxiously their joys oppress. 

Upon that vernal, blissful shore 
Death, the last enemy, is slain; 

There those who meet shall part no more. 
And those long parted meet again. 

O glory-flooded home of love. 

Where toilers, freed from care, are blest' 
Had I fleet pinions of a dove, 

I'd quickly fly to thee and rest. 

Amos E. Flint. 



THE EVERGREEN MOUNTAINS OF 
LIFE. 

There's a land far away mid the stars, we 
are told, 
WTiere they know not the sorrows of 
time; 
Where the pure waters wander through 
valleys of gold 
And life is a treasure sublime. 
'Tls the land of our God, 'tis the home of 

the soul. 
Where ages of splendor eternally roll. 
Where the way-weary traveler reaches the 
goal 
On the evergreen mountains of life. 

Our gaze can not soar to that heavenly lanrl. 

But our visions have told of its bliss; 
And our souls by the breeze from its gar- 
dens are fanned, 

WTien we faint in the deserts of this; 



And we sometimes have longed for its holy 

repose. 
When our spirits are torn with temptations 

and woes; 
And we've drunk from the tide of the river 

that flows 
From the evergreen mountains of life. 

Oh, the stars never tread the blue heavens 

But we think where the ransomed have 

trod. 

And the day never smiles from its palace 

of light 

But we feel the bright smile of our God. 

We are traveling homeward through 

changes and gloom 
To a kingdom where pleasures unchang- 
ingly bloom. 
And our guide is the glory tliat siiines 
through the tomb 
From the evergreen mountains of life 

JAME9 G. CUARK. 



MY AIN COUNTRIE. 

I am far frae me hame, an' I'm weary 

aftenwhiles. 
For the langed-for hame-bringin' an' ro« 

Faither's welcome smiles; 
An' I'll ne'er be fu' content until mine een 

do see 
The gowden gates o' heav'n an' me ain 

countrie. 
The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony- 

tinted. fresh an' gay; 
The birdies warble blithely, for me Faither 

made them sae; 
But these sights an' these soun's will a» 

naething be tae me 
When I hear the angels singin' in me ain 

countrie. 

I've his gude word o' promise that some 

gladsome day, the King 
Tae his ain royal palace his banished hame 

will bring; 
Wi' een an' wi' herts rinnin' ower we shall 

see 
The King in his beauty, in oor ain countrie. 
Me sins hae been mony, an' me sorrows hae 

been sair. 
But there they will na vex me nor be re- 
membered mair; 
For his bluid has made me white, an' his 

han' shall dry me e'e 
WTien he brings me hame at last tae mine 

ain countrie. 

Sae little noo I ken o' you blessed bonnie 
place, 
I I only ken its hame, whaur we shall see his 
[ face; 

I It wad surely be eneuch for evermalr tae be 
; In the glory o' his presence in oor ain coun- 
trie. 
Like a bairn tae its mither, a wee birdie 

tae its nest, 
I wad fain be gangin' noo unto me Savior's 
breast. 



508 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



For he fe'alliers in his bosom witless, worth- 
less lambs like me. 

An' carries them hlmsel' tae his ain coun- 
trie. 

He's faithtu' wliat hae promised, an lie'll 

surely come again; 
He'll keep his tryst wi' me; at wliat hour X 

dinna ken. 
But lie bids me still to wait an' ready aye 

tae be, 
Tae sang at ony moment tae my ain coun- 

trie; 
Sae I'm watching aye an' singin' o' me hame 

as I wait. 
For the soun'ing o' his footfa' this side the 

gowden gate. 
God gle his grace tae ilUa ane wha' I'^tens 

noo tae me, 
That we a' may gang in gladnes.s the oor 

ain countrio. 

Mrs. Marv I.L-n Demarbst. 



THE PALACE O THE KING. 

It's a bonnie, bonnie warl' that we're livin' 

i' the noo'. 
An' sunny is the Ian' tliat noo ive afteti 

traiv'll throo; 
But in vain "vs'e look for something here to 

which oor hearts may tling, 
For its beauty is as naething tae the (.aiace 

o' tlie King. 
W© like the gilded simmer, wi' Its merry, 

merry tread. 
An' we sigh when hoary v.'inter lays its 

beauties wi" the dead; 
For tho' bonnie are the snawflal es, an' the 

doon on winter's wing. 
It's fine tae ken it daurn a touch the i alace 

o' the King. 

Tlien asain, I've Just been tlunkin' t'lat 
when a'thing here's sae bricht. 

Tile sun in a' its grandeur an' the mune 
wi' quiverin' licht 

The ocean i' the simmer, or tlie woodland 1 
tho spring, 

■V^^^at maun it be up yonder i' the palace 
o' the King. 

It's here we hae oor trials, an' it's here that 
he prepares 

IJis cho.sen for the raiment whicl^ (he ran- 
somed sinner wears; 

An' it's here tliat he wad hear u.s mid oor 
tribulations sing, 

"We'll trust oor God wha' reigneth 1' the 
palace o" the King." 

Oh! it's honor heaped on honor that his 

courtiers should be ta'en 
Frae the wan'drin' anes he died for i' this 

warl' o' Ins an' pain. 
An' Its fu'est love an' service that the 

Christian's aye should bring 
Tao the feet o' him wlia reigneth f the 

palace o' the King. 
The time for sawin' seed, it Is a wearin', 

wearln' dune; 



An' the time for winnin' souls will be ower 

vera sune. 
Then lat us a' be active, gin a frintfu' 

slieaf we'd bring 
Tae adorn the royal table i' the oa'ace o' 

the King. 

Tlien lat us trust him better tlian we've 

ever dune afore. 
For the King will feed his servants frae 

his ever-bounteous store: 
Lat us keep a closer grip o' liim. for time is 

on tlie wing. 
An' sune he'll come an' tak' us tae the pal- 
ace o' the King. 
It's iv'ry halls are bonnie upon wlii'li tlie 

rainbows shine. 
An' it's Eden bow'rs are trellisod wi' a 

never-fading vine; 
An' the pearly gates o' heaven do a glorious 

radiance fling 
On tlie starry floor that shimmers 1' the 

palace o' the King. 

Nae nicht shall be in heaven, an' nae deso- 

latin' sea. 
And nae tyrant hoofs shall trample i' the 

city o' the free; 
There's an everlastin' daylight, an' a never- 

fadin" spring, 
Where the Lamb is a' the glory i' the palace 

o' the King. 
We see oor freen's await us ower yonner 

at his gate; 
Then lat us a' be ready, for >e ken If." 

gettin' late; 
Lat oor lamps be brichtly burnin'; lat us 

raise oor voice and sing, 
For sune we'll meet, tae pairt nae malr, i' 

the palace o' the King. 

William Mitoubll. 



THE HEAVENLY CITY. 

By faith I look beyond the skies 
And catch a glimpse of paradise; 
I see the city, bright and fair, 
■U'ith jasper walls and jewels rare. 
With pearly gates and streets of gold: 
Its glory never can be told. 

It needeth not the sun's clear light; 
'Tis always clay, there is no night; 
The Lamb of God, the spotless One, 
Doth take the place of moon and sun; 
His glory fills that holy place: 
His loved ones see him face to face. 

The nations of the saved are there, 
Without a sorrow, pain, or care: 
God lives and moves among his own; 
They bow in rapture at his throne: 
He brushes all their tears away; 
Oh, rapturous hour! Oh, glorious day! 

By faith I see the mansions fair. 
The fadeless crowns the faithful wear. 
The living fountains sparkling bright. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Heaven, Immortality. 



509 



The saints and angels clothed in while. 
My soul enraptured longs to rise 
And join the hosts of paradise. 

While aazing at that happy throng^, 
I catch a strain of the glad, new song — 
"Unto him that washed us in his blood 
And hatli made us kings and priests to God, 
To him be glory, honor, praise 
Throughout eternal, endless days." 

Oh, how the heavenly arches ring 
With the song the angels can not sing! 
They fold their wings and long to see 
Into the marvelous mystery 
Of sinners washed in Jesus' blood — 
Redeemed from sin, brought bacli to God. 

Bellb staplks. 



I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 

I would not live alway — live alway below ; 

Oh, no! I'll not linger when bidden to go: 

The days of our pilgrimage granted us here 

Are enough for life's woes, full enough 
for its cheer; 

Would I shrink from the patli wliich the 
prophets of God, 

Apostles, ahd martyrs, so joyfully trod? 

Like a spirit unblessed, o'er the earth would 
I roam, 

Wliile brethren and friends are all hasten- 
ing home? 

I would not live alway; I ask not to stay 
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er 

the way; 
Were seeking for rest we but hover 

around. 
Like the patriarch's bird, and no re.sting Is 

found; 
Wliere Hope, when she paints her gay bow 

in the air. 
Leaves its brilliance to fade in the night 

of despair. 
And Joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glail 

ray. 
Save the gleam of the plumage tliat bears 

him away. 

I would not live alway — no, welcome the 

tomb! 
Since Jesus liatli lain there, I dread not its 

gloom; 
A\niere he deigned to sleep, I'll too bow my 

liead. 
All peaceful to slumber on that hallowed 

bed. 
Then the glorious daybreak, to follow that 

night. 
The orient gleam of the angels of light. 
With their clarion call for the sleepers 

to rise 
And chant forth their matins, away to the 

skie!<. 

Who, who would live alway — away from 

his God, 
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode 



Wliere the rivers of pleasure flow o er 

the briglit plains. 
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns; 
■\Miere the saints of all ages in liarmony 

meet, 
Tlieir Savior and brethren transported to 

greet, 
Willie the songs of salvation exultingly roll. 
And the smile of the Lord is the feust of 

the soul? 

That heavenly music! what is it I hear? 
The notes of the harpers ring sweet in 

mine ear! 
And see, soft unfolding those portals of 

gold. 
The King all arrayed in his beauty behold! 
Oh, give me, oh, give me the wings of a 

dove. 
To adore him, be near him, enrapt wlih his 

love! 
1 but wait for the summons, I list for the 

word — 
Alleluia! — Amen: — evermore with the Lord! 

WlLLL&M AUOUBTUS MVSLE^JBEBG. 



THE NEW JERUSALEM. 

IThis grand old hymn — the soul's Ijr<>atliiDg after 
the heavenly country — is by an unknown author and 
has existed for centuries. "It has rung in triumphant 
notes through the arches of mighty cathedrals ; it has 
been chanted by the lips of kings and queens and 
nobles ; It has ascended in the still air alxtve the 
cottage roofs of the poor ; it has given utterance to 
the hopes and expectations of the Christian on every 
continent, by every seashore, io hall and hovel, un 
til it has become, in one or another of its forms, 
the possession of the whole Christian world. In- 
numerable lips that here have been touched by Its 
beauty and power, have gone to sing other and no- 
bler songs up yonder."] 



O mother dear, Jerusalem, 
Wlien shall I come to thee? 

Wlien shall my sorrows have an end? 
Thy joys when shall I see? 

O happy harbor of God's saints! 

O sweet and pleasant soil! 
In thee no sorrows can be found. 

Nor grief, nor care, nor toil. 

In thee no sickness is at all, 

Nor hurt, nor any sore; 
There is no death nor ugly night. 

But life forevermore. 

N'o dimming cloud o'crshadows thee. 
Nor gloom, nor darksome night. 

But every soul shines as the sun. 
For God himself gives light. 

There lust and lucre can not dwell; 

There envy bears no sway; 
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, 

But pleasure every way. 

Thy walls are made of precious stones. 
Thy bulwarks diamonds square; 

Thy gates are all of orient pearl. 
Exceeding rich and rare. 



510 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Thy turrets and thy pinnacles 

WlUx carbuncles do shine; 
Thy very streets are paved with gold, 

Surpassing clear and fine. 

Ah, my sweet home, Jerusalem, 

Would God I were in thee! 
Would God my woes were at an end. 

Thy joys tliat 1 might see! 

Thy saints are crowned with glory sreat; 

They see God face to (ace; 
They triumph still, they still rejoice; 

Most happy is their case. 

We that are here in banishment 

Continually do moan; 
We sigh and sob, and weep and wail, 

Perpetually we groan. 

Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall. 

Our pleasure is but pain. 
Our Joys scarce last the looking on. 

Our sorrows still remain; 

But there they live in such delight. 

Such pleasure and such play, 
As that to them a thousand years 

Dotli seem as yesterday. 

Thy gardens and thy goodly walks 

Continually are green; 
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers' 

As nowhere else are seen. 

Quite through the streets, with silver sound. 

The flood of life doth flow. 
Upon whose banks, on every side, 

The wood of life doth grow. 

There trees forevermore bear fruit. 

And evermore do spring: 
There evermore the angels sit, 

And evermore do sing. 

Jerusalem, my happy home, 

Would God I were in thee! 
Would God my woes were at an end. 

Thy Joys that I might see! 



ASLEEP IN JESUS. 

Asleep in Jesus! blessed sleep 
From which none ever wakes to weep; 
A calm and imdisturbed repose, 
Vnliroken by the last of foes. 

Asleep in Jesus! oh, how sweet 

To be for such a slumber meet! 

With holy confidence to sing 

That death has lost its venomed sting! 

Asleep in Jesus! peaceful rest. 
Whose waking is supremely blest: 
No fear, no woe, shall dim that hour 
That manifests the Savior's power. 



Asleep in Jesus! oh, for me 

May such a blissful refuge be! 

Securely shall my ashes lie, 

And wait the summons from on high. 

Asleep in Jesus! time nor space 
Affects this precious hiding-place; 
On Indian plains or Lapland snows 
Believers find the same repose. 

MBS. Mabqakbt Magkay. 



HOW GAYLY SINKS THE GORGEOUS 
SUN WITHIN HIS GOLDEN BED. 

How gayly sinks the gorgeous sun within 
his golden bed, 

As heaven's immortal azure glows a n d 
deepens into red! 

How gayly shines the burnished main be- 
neath that living light, 

And trembles with his million waves mag- 
nificently bright! 

But ah! how soon that orb of day must 
close his burning eye. 

And night, in sable pall arrayed, involve 
yon lovely sky? 

E'en thus in life our fairest scenes arp 
preludes to our woe, 

For fleeting as that glorious beam is hap- 
piness below. 

But what? though evil fates may frown 
upon our mortal birth. 

Yet Hope shall be the star that lights 
our night of grief on earth; 

And she shall point to sweeter morns, 
when brighter suns shall rise 

And spread the radiance of their rays o'er 
earth and sea and skies! 

Alfred Thnntson. 



THE IMMORTAL LIFE. 

The insect bursting from Its tomb-like bed, 
The grain that is a thousand grains re- 
vives, 
The trees that seem in wintry torpor dead. 
Tet each new year renewing their green 
lives, — 
All teach, without the added aid of Faith, 
That life still triumphs o'er apparent death. 

But dies the insect when the summer dies; 
The grain hath perished, though the 
plant remain: 
In death, at last, tlie oak of ages lies: 
Here Reason halts, nor further can at- 
tain, 
For Reason argues but from what she sees, 
Nor traces to their goal these mysteries 

But Faith the dark hiatus can supply — 
Teaching, eternal progress still sliall 
reign: 
Telling (as these things aid her to espy) 
In higher worlds that higher laws ob- 
tain: 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Heaven, Immortality 



511 



Pointing, with radiant finger raised on liigh, 
From life that still revives to life that 
can not die. 



THE PRESENT LIFE IN VIEW OF 
THE FUTURE. 

Oh, if we are not bitterly deceived; 
If this familiar spirit that communes 
With yours this liour, that has the power 

to search 
All things but its own compass, is a spark 
Strucli from the burning essence of its 

God; 
If, as we dream, in every radiant star 
We see a shining gate through which the 

soul, 
In its degree of being, will ascend; 
If, when these weary organs drop away. 
We shall forget their uses and commune 
With angels and each other, as the stars 
Mingle their light, In silence and in love,— 
Wliat is this fleshy fetter of a day 
That we should bind it with immortal 

flowers! 
How do we ever gaze upon the sky. 
And watch the lark soar up till he is lost, 
And turn to our poor perishing dreams 

away. 
Without one tear for our imprisoned wings! 
Nathaniel Pabkbb Willis. 



DEATH OF THE GOOD MAN. 

Sure the last end 

Of the good man is peace! How calm his 
exit! 

Niglit dews fall not more gently to the 
ground. 

Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft. 

Behold him In the evening-tide of life — 

A life well spent — whose early care it was 

His riper years should not upbraid his 
green: 

By unperceived degrees he wears away. 

Yet, like the sun, seems larger at his set- 
ting. 

High in his faith and hopes, look now he 
reaches 

After the prize in view! and, like a bird 

That's hampered, struggles hard to get 
away; 

While the glad gates of sight are wide ex- 
panded 

To let new glories in, the first fair fruits 

Of the last-coming harvest. Then, oh, then! 

Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disap- 
pears. 

Shrunk to a thing of naught. Oh, how he 
longs 

To have his passport signed, and be dis- 
missed! 
'Tis done, and now he's happy! The glaJ 

soul 
Has not a wish uncrowned. E'en the lag 
flesh 



Rests, too, in hope of meeting once again 
Its better half, never to sunder more; 
Nor shall it hope in vain: the time draws 

on 
When not a single spot of burial earth. 
Whether on land or in the spacious sea. 
But must give back its long-committed dust 
Inviolate. 

RoBEBT Blair. 



NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 

l^riend after friend departs; 

Who hath not lost a friend? 
There is no union here of hearts. 

That finds not here an end; 
Were this frail world our final rest, 
Liiviiig or dying none were blest. 

Beyond the flight of time. 

Beyond the reign of death. 
There surely is some blessed dim© 

WTiere life is not a breath, 
Nor love's affections transient fire. 
Whose sparks fiy upward and expire. 

There is a world above. 

Where parting is unknown; 
A long eternity of love. 

Formed for the good alone; 
And faith beholds the dying here, 
Translated to that glorious sphere. 

Thus star by star declines 

Till all are passed away. 
As morning high and higher shines, 

To pure and perfect day; 
Nor sink those stars in empty night. 
But hide themselves in heaven's own light. 
James MONTooMBitT, 



JOYS OF HEAVEN. 

Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy 
skies. 

Beyond Death's cloudy portal. 
There is a land where beauty never dies 

And love becomes immortal; 

A land whose light is never dimmed by 
shade, 

'\\'hose fields are ever vernal, 
"UTiere nothing beautiful can ever fade. 

But blooms for aye eternal. 

We may not know how sweet its balmy air. 
How bright and fair its flowers; 

We may not hear the songs that echo there. 
Through those enchanted bowers; 

The city's shining towers we may not see 

With our dim earthly vision. 
For death, the silent warder, keeps the key 

That opes those gates elysian; 

But sometimes, where adown the western 
sky 
The fiery sunset lingers. 



512 



TREASURES OF POETRY 



Its eolden gates swing inward noiselessly. 
Unlocked by silent Angers; 

And while they stand a moment half ajar, 

Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream lightly through the azure vault 
afar, 

And half reveal the story. 

Oh, land unknown! Oh, land of love divine! 

Father all-wise, eternal. 
Guide, guide, these wandering, way-worn 
feet of mine 
Unto those pastures vernal. 

Nancj a. W. PmseT. 



LIFE FROM DEATH. 

The star is not extinguished wlien it sets 
Upon the dull horizon; it but goes 

To shine in other skies, then reappear 
In ours as fresh as when it first arose. 

The river is not lost when o'er the rock 
It pours its flood into the abyss below; 

Its scattered force regathering from the 
shock, 
It hastens onward with yet fuller flow. 

The bright sun dies not when the shadin« 
orb 

Of the eclipsing moon obscures its ray; 
It still is shining on, and soon to us 

Will burst undimmed into the joy of day 

The lily dies not when both flower and leaf 
Fade and are strewed upon the chill, sad 
ground; 
Gone down for shelter to its mother- 
earth, 
'Twill rise, rebloom, and shed its fra- 
grance round. 

The dewdrop dies not when it leaves the 
flower 
And passes u.pward on the beam of morn; 
It does but hide itself in light on high, 
To Its loved flower, at twilight, to re- 
turn. 

The fine gold has not perished when the 
flame 
Seizes upon it with consuming glow: 
In freshened splendor it comes forth anew, 
To sparkle on the monarch's throne or 
brow. 

Thus nothing dies, or only dies to live: 
Star, stream, sun, flower, dewdrop and 
the gold, — 
Each goodly thing, instinct with buoyant 
hope. 
Hastes to put on its purer, finer mold. 

Thus in the quiet joy of kindly trust. 
We bid each parting saint a brief fare- 
well; 



Weeping, yet smiling, we commit their 
dust 
To the safe keeping of the silent cell. 

Softly within that peaceful resting-place 
We lay their wearied limbs, and bid the 
clay 

Press lightly on them till the night be past 
And the far east give note of coming day. 

The day of reappearing — how it spee'is! 

He who is true and faithful speaks the 
word; 
Then shall we ever be with those we love. 

Then shall we be forever with tiie T-ord. 

The about is heard; the archangel's voice 
goes forth; 
The trumpet sounds; the dead awake and 
sing; 
The living put on glory; one glad band, 
They hasten up to meet their coming 
King. 

Short death and darkness; endless life and 
light 
Short dimming; endless shining in yon 
sphere, 
Wtiere all is incorruptible and pure — 
The joy without the pain, the smile 
without the tear. 

ROIATIUB BONAK. 



NO NIGHT SHALL BE IN HEAVEN. 

No night shall be in heaven; no gathering 

gloom 
Shall o'er that glorious landscape ever 

come; 
No tears shall fall in sadness o'er thoc* 

flowers 
That breathe their fragrance through cel««- 

tial bowers. 

No night shall be in heaven: forbid to sleep, 
These eyes no more their mournful vigils 

keep; 
Their fountains dried, their tears all wiped 

away. 
They gaze undazzled on eternal day. 

No night shall be in heaven, no sorrow 

reign. 
No secret anguish, no corporeal pain. 
No shivering limbs, no burning fever there, 
No soul's eclipse, no winter of despair. 

No night shall be in heaven, but endle** 

noon; 
No fast-deolining sun, no waning moon; 
But there the Lamb shall yield perpetual 

light 
Mid pastures green and waters ever bright. 

No night shall be in heaven. Oh, had I 

faith. 
To rest in what the faithful witness salth. 



POEMS OF RELIGION — Heaven, Immortality. 



513 



That faith should make these hideous 

phantoms flee. 
And leave no night henceforth on earth to 

me! 



ACROSS THE RIVER. 

When for me the silent oar 

Parts the silent river, 
And I stand upon the shore 

Of the strange forever, 
Shall I miss the loved and known.' 
Shall I vainly seek mine own? 

Mid the crowd that come to meet 

Spirits sin-forgiven — 
Listening to their echoing feet 

Down the streets of heaven — 
Shall I know a footstep near 
That I listen, wait for, here? 

Then will one approach the brink. 

With a hand extended — 
One whose thoughts I loved to think 

Ere the veil was rended — . 
Saying, "Welcome! We have died. 
And again are side by side"; 

Saying, "I will go with thee. 

That thou be not lonely. 
To yon hills of mystery; 

I have waited only 
Until now to climb with thee 
Yonder hills of mystery"? 

Can the bonds that make us here 

Know ourselves immortal. 
Drop away, the foliage sear. 

At life's inner portal? 
What is holiest below 
Must forever live and grow. 

I shall love the angels well. 

After I have found them. 
In the mansions where they dwell, 

With the glory round them; 
But at first, without surprise. 
Let me look for human eyes. 

Step by step our feet must go 

Up the holy mountain: 
Drop by drop within us flow 

Life's unfailing fountain. 
Angels sing with crowns that burn. 
Shall we have a song to learn? 

He who on our earthly path 

Bids us help each other, 
Who his Well-beloved hath 

Made our Elder Brother, 
Will but clasp the chain of love 
Closer, when we meet above. 

Therefore dread I not to go 

O'er the silent river: 
Death, thy hastening oar I know: 

Bear me, thou life-giver. 
Through the waters, to the shore 
■WTiere mine own have gone before. 

LnCT T.AKCOK. 



A SUNSET THOUGHT OF HEAVEN. 

if brighter than that gorgeous cloud 
The golden gates of heaven ehine. 

Scarce could I shrink from Death's pale 
shroud 
Or dread his cold lips pressed to mine, 

So I might soar away to see 

The home of rest prepared for me. 

Far sweeter than the richest notes 
On earth to cheer our spirits .leiven, 

Must be the ceaseless hymn which floats 
From angels' golden harps in heaven; 

And who would w ish to linger long 

From that blessed land of holy song? 

Far stronger than the dearest tie.s 
Which hold our yearning hearts below 

Is that pure love which bids us rise 
The perfect will of God to know; 

And can the soul contented rest 

Away from hira who loves us best? 

Mhs. .m. j. e. CRiwroKD. 



NATURE AND FAITH. 

2 Cor. 4: 17. IS. 

We wept — 'twas Nature wept, but Faith 
Can pierce beyond the gloom of deatli. 
And in yon world so fair and bright 
Behold thee in refulgent light. 
We miss thee here, yet Faith would rather 
Know thou art with thy heavenly Father. 

Nature sees the body de^d; 

Faith beholds the spirit fled. 

Nature stops at Jordan's tide; 

Faith beholds the other side. 

That but hears farewell and sighs; 

This, thy welcome in the skies. 

Nature mourns a cruel blow; 
Faith assures it is not so. 
Nature never sees thee more, 
Faith but sees thee gone before. 
Nature tells a dismal story; 
Faith has visions full of glory. 
Nature views the change with sadness; 
Faith contemplates it with gladness. 
Nature murmurs; Faith gives meekness — 
"Strength is perfected in weakness " 
Nature writhes, and hates the rod; 
Faith looks up and blesses God. 
Sense looks downwards; Faith, above. 
That sees harshness: this sees love. 
Oh! let Faith victorious be — 
Let it reign triumphantly! 

But thou art gone! not lost, but flown; 
Shall I. then, ask thee back, my own? 
Back — and leave thy spirit's brightness? 
Back — and leave thy robes of whiteness? 
Back — and leave thine angel mold? 
Back — and leave those streets of gold? 
Back — and leave the Lamb who feeds 

thee? 
Back — from founts to which he leads 

thee? 



Sli 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Bttck — and leave tliy heavenly Father'.' 
Back — to earth ami sin' Nay ratlier 
Would 1 live in solitudo! 
1 would not ask Uioe U' 1 voulJ. 
liut patient wait the hiKli decree. 
That calls my snirit home to tliee! 



IMMORTALITY. 



Into a land calm and quiet; 
Never a storm cometh nljfh It, 
Never a wreck on its shore. 

Out of the land in whose bowers 
Perish and fade all the llowers — 

Out of the land of decay 
Into the Kden wliere fairest 
Of tlowerots, and sweetest and rarest, 

Never sliall witlier away. 



Oh, listen, man! 

A voice within us speaks tliat startling: 
word. 

"Man, thou Shalt never die!" Celestial 
voices 

Hymn it into our si^uls: accordinj; riarv^s, 

B> anjrel llnsers touched, when tl>e miUi 
stars 

Of niornlns sans toselher. sound forth 
still 

The sons of our sreat immortality. 

Thick-clusterinK orhs, and this our fair do- 
main. 

The tall, dark uKnintains and the deep- 
toned seas. 

Join in this solemn, universal sons. 

Oh, listen yo. our spirits; drink it in 
From all the air. 'Tis in tlie senile moon- 

liSht: 
'Tis floating midst Day's setting slories: 

Xisht. 
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our 

ears: 
Night, and the dawn, brisht day. and 

thouKhtful eve. 
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse. 
As one vast mystic Instrument, are touched 
By an unseen, livins Hand: and conscious 

chords 
Quiver with Joy in this .srreat iubilee. 
The dyin.>r hear it; and, as sounds of eartli 
Grow dull and distant, wake their pass- 

Intr souls 
To minsrle in this heavenly harmony 

RlCtlARO IIKNRT PaNA. 



DEATH. 

Out of tlie shadows of sadness 
Into tlie sunshine of gladness. 

Into the lisht of the blest: 
Out of a land very dreary. 
Out of the world of the weary. 

Into the rapture of rest. 

Out of today's jmin and sorrow 
Into a blissful tomorrow. 

Into a day without ijloom: 
Out of a land filled with siffhing- — 
Land of the dead and the dyin,? — 

Into a land without tomb. 

Out of a life of commotion. 
Tempest-swept oft as the ocean. 
Park with the wreck drifting o'er,- 



Out of the world of the aillng^, 

Thronged with the an.iruislied and wailing- 

Out of the world of the sad 
Into the world that rejoices. 
World of brlKht visions and voices — 

Into tlie world of the slad. 

Out of a life ever lornful. 
Out of a land ever mournful, 

Wliere in bleak exile we roam, — 
Into a Joy-land above us. 
Where tliere's a Fatlier to love us— 

Into "Our home, sweet home." 



THE OTHER WORLD. 

It lies around us like a cloud — 

A world we do not see: 
Yet the sweet closli\s of an eye 

May brins us tliere to be. 

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; 

Amid o\ir worldly cares 
Its gentle voices whisper love. 

And mingle witli our prayers. 

Sweet hearts around us throb and beat. 
Sweet helpiti.^: liands are stirred. 

And palpitates the veil between 
With breathinss almost heard 

The silence — awful, sweet, and calm — 
They have no power to break; 

For mortal wonis are not for them 
To utter or partake. 

So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide. 

So near to press they seem. — 
They seem to lull us to our rest, 

And melt into our dream. 

And in the hush of rest they brlnit 

'Tis easy now to see 
How lovely and how sweet a pass 

The hour of death may be. 

To close the eye and close the ear. 
Wrapped in a trance of bliss, 

.\nd gently dream in loving arms; 
To swoon to that from this; 

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 
Scarce asking where we are: 

To feel all evil sink away. 
All sorrow and all care. 

Sweet souls around us! watch us still. 
Press nearer to our side. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Heaven, Immortality. 



515 



Into our thouKhU), Into our prayerD, 
With gentle helpings glide. 

I<et death between tis be aa naught, 
A dried and vanlahed Htream: 

Tour joy be the reality. 

Our Rufferln^- life the dream. 

lUttiKT BKi/.axs MTowa. 



THE PROSPECT. 

Methlnkfi v.'<; do an fretful children do, 
L«anlng their faceii on the window-pane 
To High the giaiiB dim with their own 
hreath'a ataln. 
And shut the sky and landscape from their 

view. 

And lliun, alas: since God the maker drew 

A mystic separation 'twixt those twain. 

The life beyond us and our souls In pain. 

We miss the prospect which we're called 

unti 
By grief we're fools to use. Be still and 
strong, 
O man, my brother: hold thy sobbing 
breath. 
And keep thy soul's large window pure 

from wrong, — 
That so, as life's appointment issueth. 
Thy vision may be clear to watch along 
The sunset consummation-lights of death. 
RMZABrru Bassstt Bsownixo. 



IMMORTALITY. 

Man Is not all of earth; 
The elov. ing brlBhtneas of bright Fancy's 

fires. 
The houndiessness of all his soul's desires. 

Prove him of heavenly birth. 

Look on his glorious face: 
There the quick play of varied passions see! 
Look on that brow of thought: Must it 
not be 

A spirit's dwelling-place? 

Behold that changing eye! 
Does not that glance of tenderness and 

love. 
That look of high resolve, or pity, prove 

Something that will not die? 

Tlie grave can claim no part 
Save that on which there falleth our sad 

tears; 
Clay can not cover all those hopes and 
fears 
Which swell each throbbing heart. 

Would God a palace rear 
For a frail being, with no nobler life 
Than that which closes with the dying 
.strife? 

A life that endeth here? 



Ah, no! the tenant must 
More glorious than its glorious mansion be. 
Whose dome and columns soon, alas! we see 

All crumbling into dust. 

Dust may to dust return. 
Ashes to kindred ashes fall again; 
But thought dies not; of all the mind's 
bright train 

None find a funeral urn. 

Then, though thine eye grow dim. 
And sluggish flow the current of th/ blood, 
L>ook up, O man: In steadfast faith, to Ood; 

For thou Shalt go to him. 

WlUJAi< Baxtek. 



SOME BLESSED DAY. 

Some day we'll cease our toiling here; 

Our hopes are now on things above: 
.Some day without a doubt or fear 

We'll gather home to those we love. 

^ome day the cord of life will break. 
That holds us to this house of clay, 

In which we groan till we shall wake 
In that fair home of endless day. 

Oh, glorious hope, that sweet some day! 

That hope the anchor of our soul, 
To keep us saved in Christ the way, 

And trusting him though billows roll. 

Some day — the time seems strangely near. 
When life's frail thread shall severed bo 

And we shall see that home so dear. 
From earthly cares forever free 

•Some blessed day — oh. Joyful day 
WTien we shall speed from earth away. 
Our feet shall press that golden shore, 
To be with Christ forevermore. 

W. W. TiTLEI. 



A DYING HYMN. 

(The last stanza composed by Alice Cary was 
writti^n on her ilpath-bwl. with trembling han*1. the 
r»*fn fallini? from her floeers as the rhfll r.f death 
was stealing over her. The stanza was this : 

"As the poor panting hart to the water-brook mns. 
As the water-brook rtins to the sea ; 
So earth's falntln? rlancrhtf-fH an*! famishihg eons. 
O foootaln of love, ran to Thee." 

Then, with her last breath, she repeated the follow- 
ing, written some years before, as if prophetic of 
her last hour ; 1 

Earth with its dark and dreadful ills 

Recedes and fades away: 
Lift up your head.s, ye heavenly hlUa! 

Te gates of death, give way! 

My soul Is full of whispered song; 

My blindness is my sight: 
The shadows that I feared so long 

Are all alive with light. 

The while my pulses faintly beat. 
My faith doth so abound, 



516 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



I feel grow firm beneath my feet 
The green immortal ground. 

That faith to me a courage gives 

Low as the grave to go; 
I know that my Redeemer lives; 

That I shall live I know. 

The palace walls I almost see, 
Where dwells my Lord and King; 

O Grave, where Is thy victory? 
O Death, where is thy sting? 

Alicb Cik<- 



IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

Poor Soul, the center of my transient earth. 
Fooled by these rebel powers that thee 
array. 
Why dost thou pine within and suffer 
dearth. 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion 
spend? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
Eat up that charge? Is this thy body's 
end? 
Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's 
loss. 
And let that pine so aggravate thy store: 
Buy terms divine In selling hours of dross; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more: 
So Shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on 

men, 
And Death once dead, there's no more dyiny 
then! 

>riLLU.M SHAKKIPBABI. 



IN THE DAWNING OF THE MORN- 
ING. 

When the clouds shall roll forever 

From the everlasting hills. 
When fruition of endeavor 

All the useless longing fills, 
When our feet shall ever wc-^der 

Where the shadows only stay, 
In the dawning of the morning, 

When the clouds shall flee away. 

WTien our hands have ceased forever 

Gathering what is not ours. 
When our hearts are weary never 

Through mistaking thorns for flowers, 
Then no more the darkening shadows 

O'er our happy lives shall play 
Tn the dawning of the morning, 

When the clouds shall flee away. 

Hitherto our eyes were blinded. 

Hitherto our hearts were sad: 
Then shall come the endless sunshine, 

Then our hearts be always glad. 
Nevermore shall storm-clouds gather. 

Shadows intercept our day, 



In the dawning of the morning. 
When the clouds shall flee away. 

^'BLLT H. WOODWOBTH. 



WE SHALL KNOW EACH OTHER 
THERE. 

When the evening shadows gather 

-■Vnd tlie long days work is done: 
When we reach that unknown country, 

Out beyond tlie setting sun; 
After all tlie weary waiting. 

In their peaceful rest to share. 
No more need of anguished parting, — 

We shall know each other there. 

Cherished forms who walked beside urn 

Down the long eventful years — 
How we watched them as they vajiished. 

Through a mist of falling tears! 
Loving voices hushed in silence 

Joining with the angel band. 
Singing their triumphant anthems 

Over in tlie Beulah land. 

But some day if we may enter 

Through the pearly portals wide. 
They will be the first to meet us, 

Over on tlie other side. 
Safe within our Father's mansion. 

Clad in robes all white and fair, 
Cliantlng sweet a joyous welcome. 

We sliall know each other there. 

All the way they've walked beside u«. 

Ever near, although unseen. 
Hidden from our blinded vision 

By the veil that fell between; 
All the while familiar voices 

Wliispered words of hope and cheer, 
But life's battles raged so fiercely 

That our ears w-ere dull to liear. 

Hush, then, each rebellious murmur. 

For we too are going home — 
Going to find our household treasures, 

When these tired feet cease to roam; 
On the resurrection morning. 

Free from pain and free from care. 
With our tear-dimmed eyes made perfect, 

We shall know each other there. 



THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 

Waiting for the close of life. 

Traveling almost o'er: 
Mists are gathering on my eyes; 

Earth's friends I see no more. 

Visions from a far-oft land 

Illuminate my sight; 
The boatman beckons with his oar; 

I'll be at home tonight. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Heaven, Immortality. 



517 



with weary feet the earth I've trod, 
liowed down oft with my load; 

A kind hand often raised me up; 
It was the hand of God. 

I've traveled many a thorny way. 
But on a thorn-pierced brow 

I iirazed, and I was lifted up; 
That vision cheers me now. 

The earth recedes with all its ills, 

Wtth all the joys it gave; 
I stand upon death 'k chilling brink; 

I feel its foaming wave. 

But on the surging billows' foam; 

Within the boat I see 
The one that hushed tliat awful storm 

On far-off Galilee. 

And brighter visions cheer me on, 
As the surges swell on high: 



Oil I with a friend like Jesus near, 
"I'is bliss indeed to die. 

See yonder holy home, whose walls 

Shall never wear with aeel 
And see the friends that wait me there — 

Part of my heritagel 

'Twas faith that linked my heart to Him 
Who conquered death and hell; 

Tis faith thai cheers me through death s 
gloom : 
1 triumph ; all is well. 

I hear the harps that long shall tune 
In heaven the Savior's praise; 

111 soon be there and join the hymn, 
Tlie hymn their voices raise. 

oil, wo.'idrous sight! I pass the vale 

My soul i.s on tlie wing. 
"O Grave, viieie is thy victory? 

O Death, where is thy sting?" 

Charlbs Cukbib. 



MEDITATION. 



THE THUNDER. 

What sound, like chariot-wheels on high. 
That roll their weight against the sky? 
Their swelling forces sweep along, 
Keverberating loud and strong; 
And hark! it is a martial tread — 
A mighty host to battle led! 

And lo! we hear 

The Charioteer! 

Wliose voice, hurled from his lofty place, 
Descending through ethereal space. 
The earth and bending heaven fills. 
The grand and e"erlasting hills 
In solemn, trembling echoes wake. 
With smoking, burning terrors shake. 

At his approach 

And awful touch 

W© pause to hear, as peal on peal 
From his fierce bolts spring forth and steal 
From Bzure archts to the ground, 
And consternation's spread around; 
We see the flashing streams, like death, 
Tliat Issue from his fiery breath. 
'Tis God who speaks 
■SVhen thunder wreaks! 

"Be still! and know that I am God." 
Before Jehovah's awful rod! 
Which fearful desolation sends 
O'er earth, and rocks and mountains rends, 
And from their strong foundations moves — 
This his eternal presence proves. 
>fv soul attends 
When God descends 

In thunder-cTiariots from the sky. 
And sounds his connuering battle-cry; 
On swlft-wlnped wind."? — his flying steeds — 
Who. clothed in clouds, triumphant speeds; 



I'rom vivid lightning's flash lie made 
A shining, furbislied cavalcade. 
Be still, my soul. 
When thunders roll! 

ANNA K. Thomas. 



SO LET ME LIVE. 

T'rom day to day, from year to year. 

As God doth precious moments give. 
In peace, in love, in holy fear 
.\nil righteousness and sunny cheer, — 
So let me live. 

With face set forward in the race, 

With heart as hopeful as tue day, 
i.et me be strong in Heaven's grace 
.\nd lielp another keep his place 
On life's rough way. 

S(i many Iiearts are heavy grown. 
So many need a word of cheer, 
I have no time to be cast ilown. 
Nor idle be, nor wear a frown. 
Nor faint, nor fear. 

Xo time to backward looking he 

And wondering why things went that way, 
Nor try through future's veil to see 
Great thing.s. but little things let me 
Do now — today. 

A.-! down the path of life I trod 

OfTenses may T never give 
To any creature, n'or to God. 
But helpful he in deed and word; 
So let me live. 

Then let my way lead where it may. 
Through fields of roses or of thorn. 
O'er rough or smooth, or up or down; 



518 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



I hope to sain a starry crown 
Some blessed morn. 

1 hope to gain a home of rest 

When this my house of clay sliall fall; 
I must therefore keep up life's zest, 
And have my last day be the best, 
The best of all. 

CH.U1LES E. Obb. 



ONLY A FEW SHORT YEARS. 

Only a few short years of life 

In which to work and pray; 
Only a while to wage the strife. 

Till comes the close of day. 

Only a weight of anxious care. 

Before the long relief; 
Only a struggle short to share — 

The battle of life is brief. 

Only a while to sympathize 

With care-crushed souls in need; 

Only a while to hear their cries 
And do a kindly deed. 

Only some wakeful hours to spend. 

Till comes the long repose; 
Few times a kindly hand to lend 

Or share another's woes. 

Only a few short years, O God! 

Not one of them is mine. 
Oh, may my actions, thoughts, and words 

Prove I am wholly thine! 

O. P. Linn. 



ALONE. 

Alone, I stand beside Life's stream. 
And watch its surging plash and sheen, 
And long for worlds unseen. 

Alone, I note the ebb and flow — 
The tides that come, the tides that go — 
Of human weal and woe. 

Alone. I pass on crowded street 
By halls, — whose throngs, with joy replete. 
Round friendship's altar meet. 

Alone, I wander oft and muse 
Along Thought's silent avenues. 

As Duty's path I choose. 

Alone, I sit at eventide 

Midst Fancy's guests, who lurk and hide 
In Memory's castle wide 

Alone, I count the sands of Time, 
The shifting scenes of day's decline. 
And turn to realms sublime. 

Alone, I press Life's walks — alone! 
As joys of other days have flown. 
Ton heaven holds my own 



Alone, I tread upon the brink 
Of Time's rough, rugged shores, and think 
Beyond, "I'll pleasures drink." 

Alone, ah yes, alone! I wait 
A welcome through th' eternal gate 
At close of earthly state. 

Alone! yet not alone, I'll glide 
Through angry waves which worlds divide. 
With Jesus by my side. 

ANNA K. THUMA3. 



GOD S CARE. 

Wliat am I that thou shouldst be 
Mindful, O my God, of me, 
Watching o'er me day by day. 
Answering when I kneel to pray? 

What am I that thou needst care 
WTiat I eat or drink or wear? 
Matters it so much to thee 
That I fed and clothed should be? 

What am I that thou shouldst keep 
Watch o'er me and never sleep, 
Guiding, guarding, all my years. 
Deepening joys and lessening fears? 

What am I that thou must know 
Every path where I may go; 
That thy still, small voice should say, 
"Walk ye in the narrow way"? 

What am I that thou shouldst send 
Thy Son to be my truest friend? 
He who walked in Galilee 
Has come to dwell and walk with me. 

What am I that I should have 
Endless life beyond the grave? 
Why dost thou so much for mo. 
When I can do naught for thee? 

Geobgia C. Elliott. 



NEARER HOME. 

tTbis poem, which has comforted so many ChrlB- 
tian hearts, is prized not only for its own salie, but 
as a fitting memorial to the gifted writer, who has 
since gone to her "Father's house' " beyond "thft 
crystal sea."] 

One sweetly solemn thought 
Comes to me o'er and o'er: 

I'm nearer my home today 
Than I ever have been before: 

Nearer my Father's house, 

Where the many mansions be; 

Nearer the great whit© throne; 
Nearer the crystal sea; 

Nearer th© bound of life. 

Wher© we lay our burdens down; 
Nearer leaving- th© cross, 

Nearer gaining the crown. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Meditation. 



519 



But the waves of that silent sea 
Roll dark before my sight. 

That brightly the other side 
Break on a shore of light. 

Oh, if my mortal feet 

Have almost gained the brink; 
If it be I am nearer home 

Even today than 1 think,^ 

Father, perfect my trust; 

Let my spirit feel in death 
That her feet are firmly set 

On the Rock of a living faith! 

PBoEBa Cast. 



A NAME IN THE SAND. 

Alone 1 walked the ocean strand; 
A pearly shell was in my hand; 
I stooped and wrote upon the sand 

My name, the year, the day. 
As onward from the spot I passed, 
One lingering look behind I cast — 
A wave came rolling, high and fast, 

And washed ray lines away. 

And so, methought, 'twill shortly be 
With every mark on earth from me; 
A wave of dark oblivion's sea 

^VTll sweep across the place 
Where 1 have trod the sandy shore 
Of time, — and been, to be no more; 
Of me, my name, the name I bore. 

To leave no track nor trace. 

And yet, with Him who counts the sands. 
And holds the waters in His hands, 
1 know a lasting record stands 

Inscribed against my name. 
Of all this mortal part has wrought. 
Of all this thinking soul has thought. 
And from these fleeting moments caught,- 

For glory or for shame. 

H. P. GODLD. 



THE BRINK OF THE GRAVE. 

[The following beautiful verses wore penned b.v a 
roung man who tell asleep in Jesus in his sixteenth 
year. They were found, after his death, in his 
pockethooK. ] 

Oh! I have been at the brink of the grave, 
And stood on the edge of its deep, darl; 

wave; 
And I thought, in the still, calm hours of 

night. 
Of those regions whei-e all is ever bright: 
And I feared not the wave 
Of the gloomy grave, 
For I knew that Jehovah was mighty to 

to save. 

And I have watched the solemn ebb an.l 

flow 
Of life's tide which was fleeting sure though 

slow; 



I've stood on the shore of eternity. 

And heard the deep roar of its rushing sea; 

Tet I feared not the wave 

Of the gloomy grave. 
For I knew that Jehovah was mighty to 
save. 

And I found that my only rest could be 
In the death of the One who died for me; 
For my rest Is bought with the price of 

blood 
WJiich gushed from the veins of the Son 
of God. 

So 1 fear not the wave 
Of the gloomy grave. 
For I know that Jehovah is mighty to save 



WHOM HAVING NOT SEEN, WE 
LOVE. 

It is easy to love when eye meets eye. 

And the glance reveals the heart; 
When the flush on the cheek can the soul 
bespeak, 

And the lips in gladness part. 
There's a thrill of bliss in a loving kiss. 

And a spell in a kindly tone. 
And the spirit hath chains of tenderness 

To fetter and bind its own. 

But a holier spell and a deeper joy 

From a purer fountain flow 
WTien the soul sends higher its incense Are 

And rests no more below; 
When the heart goes up to the gate of 
heaven. 

And bows before the throne. 
And, striking its liarp for .sins forgiven, 

Calls the Savior all its own. 

Though we gaze not now on the lovely brow 

That felt for us the thorn; 
Though far from home We pilgrims roam 

And our feet with toil are worn; 
Though we never have pressed that pierced 
hand,— 

It is stretched our lives above. 
And we own his care in grateful prayer. 

Whom, having not seen, we love. 

We have felt him near for many a year, 

When at eve we bent the knee; 
That mercy-breath, that glorious faith, 

Dear Savior, came from thee. 
In the weary hour when Satan's power 

To tempt has tried our soul, 
Oh, the healing balm of the heavenly calm, 

With which he made us whole! 

When we stood beside the dying bed 

And watched the loved one go. 
In the darkening hour we felt his power. 

As it hushed the waves of woe: 
And over and through the grief, we knew 

A stronger heart than ours, 
And arms of love that stretched from above 

To comfort the weary hours. 



520 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And still, as we climb the hills of time 

And the lamps of earth grow dim, 
We are hastening on, from faith to sight, 

We are pressing near to him; 
And away from the idols of earthly mold. 

Enraptured we eaze above. 
And long to be where liis arms enfold, 

\\"hom, having not seen, we love. 



GOD S HANDIWORK. 

The firmament, the land. tl)e air, 
The glory of the Lord declare; 
The heavens show handiwork all fair 
And beautiful beyond compare. 

Unmeasured chains of stars, soft, bright. 
Festoon the sky and wreathe the night, 
With beams of mellow, silver light, 
Knchanting to our raptured sight. 

He calls the waters of the seas — 
Orion and sweet Pleiades, 
And hosts of constellations — these, 
Responding, tiieir Creator please. 

Thus, set by Architect Divine, 
Unnumbered planets flash and shine. 
By man, the crown of his design, 
He's linked eternity with time. 

The universe, by power and skill 
Of his omniscient mind and will. 
His purposes and plans fulfil; 
But man his mission greater still 

Than all created things we find 
In heaven's blue dome and earth combined. 
A lump of clay, with breath and mind. 
And deathless spirit there enshrined. 

And earth, a mere terrestrial hall 
In Gods vast universe, let fall 
By his all-wise command and call; 
And I, an atom, mid it all. 

And "yet within this mortal fold 
Lies treasure richer than the gold 
This grand expanse of worlds can hold; 
Immortal, but for naught 'twas sold! 

But Jesus wrought a wondrous scheme, 
My untold losses to redeem; 
Mid Justice's frown — a fearful scene — 
He opened up kind Mercy's stream — 

Whose presence now we bow before; 
While sacred awe our heart sweeps o'er. 
As we his majesty adore. 
And smiling Providence implore. 

The Author of time's span — its years. 
Its moments, ages, cycles, spheres — 
Was touched with all my restless fears. 
And wiped away unhidden tears. 

And condescending thus, he came 
■WTthin my heart to live and reign: 
From everlasting his great name 
To everlasting rules the same 



How wonderful the mystery! 
"The high and lofty One" we see 
Inhabiting eternity. 
Abiding in humanity! 

Then, I will trust him for my needs, 
Nor fail to follow where he leads. 
Before whose face the Spirit pleads 
And ever for me intercedes. 

Around, his presence shields from harm; 
Above, protects from death's alarm; 
Within, eternal love's sweet charm; 
Beneath, tlie everlasting arm. 

ANNA K. Thouas. 



EVENING THOUGHTS. 

Wlien the golden sun is setting 

And a glow is in the west; 
When the birds have ceased their singing 

And all nature sinks to rest, — 

Then my soul itself reviewing. 
Turns to look at that within. 

Asking what the deeds and motives 
Of the vanished day have been. 

Did I feel the love of Jesus 

Wlien I gave that passing smile, 

Or did love for self uprising 
Half its purity defile? 

Did the Savior's benediction 
Rest upon that trifling word? 

When I spoke in hearty accents. 
Did I think that angels heard? 

O my Savior, stoop to hear me, 
For the day has run its race; 

rardon grant for past transgressions. 
For the future give me grace. 

ilelp me fi3; my heart on heaven: 
May my love be wholly thine; 

May my thoughts and acts be molded 
By an influence divine. 

Mrs. Emilt H. HirroiD. 



A REFRAIN. 

Softly, softly o'er time's mead. 
Upward doth his Spirit lead; 
Touched by powers of love divine, 
Hope's sweet blossoms round me twine 
Brighter than the light of day, 
Fairer than the moonbeam's ray. 
Shines God's light within my soul. 
Ever pointing to life's goal. 

ViTiile these lonely scenes I press. 
May its luster ne'er grow less; 
But when eventide draws near. 
May it burn more soft and clear. 
As when day's departing beams 
Through the glooming casting gleams, 
Flecks with mellow light the sky. 
^^'hile the passing shadows fly; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Meditation. 



521 



So may life's receding sun. 
When its twilight has begun, 
Falling through faith's telescope, 
Gently down its western slope. 
Gild with peace the vale I tread. 
Flood with glory all o'erhead. 
Till I pass — where still he leads — 
To those grand, eternal meads. 

Anna K. Thomas. 



A LIFE GARDEN. 

A garden-plot of sunny hours 
God gives me ^^iien I wake. 

And I can make it bright with flowers 
All day for his dear sake. 

Red roses, if my heart is sweet 

With love for all my own; 
And heart's-ease springing at my feet 

For every kindness shown. 

And shining, sunny marigold. 

If I am brave and bright; 
And lilies, for the thoughts that hold 

My heart all pure and white. 

Sweet violets, hiding in their leaves. 

For truth and modesty; 
And balsams if a soul that grieves 

Finds comforting in me. 

And poppies, if my toil brings rest 
To hands grown tired with care; 

And always — first and last and best — 
Forget-me-nots of prayer. 

Mabel Earle. 



THROUGH NATURE TO GOD. 

When the smile of the summer is warm on 

the earth; 

When the grain-flelds are golden and sere, 

And the song of the reaper is heard in the 

land. 

And the heart is abounding with cheer; 

When the birds warble sweetly their jubi- 
lant song; 
When the rosebush is laden with bloom: 
When the streamlet is rippling in musical 
notes. 
The air filled with breath of perfume. — 

'TIs pleasant to wander away by the stream, 

And muse on God's infinite grace, 
And see in each object of nature his love 

In preparing this beautiful place- 
He might have made earth an abode for is 
here 

And left out the beautiful things — 
The green of the grass, the blue of the sky, 

And the flutter and rustle of wings — 



But he chose to give useful and beautiful, 
too. 
And implant in each true soul a love 
That directs it to look through the beau- 
ties of earth 
To their infinite Author above. 

MB9. a. p. jAtTIH. 



THINKING, LORD, OF THEE. 

Alone in some secure retreat. 

The sky o'ershadows me; 
All nature smiles so soft and sweet: 

I'm thinking. Lord, of thee. 

1 see thee in the lonely mount 

In silent prayer for me. 
Thy tears all night a flowing fount: 

I'm thinking. Lord, of thee. 

I hear thy deep and mournful sigh 

In sad Gethsemane; 
I see thee on the reeking cross: 

I'm thinking. Lord, of thee. 

Awaking from the silent tomb. 

Thy risen form I see; 
Thy saints awaiting thee to come. 
Are thinking. Lord, of thee. 

Thinking of thee, O Lord, of thee, 

Musing on things above, 
Till every cord within my soul 

Is tuned with heavenly love. 

Chulis E. Oil. 



WEARINESS. 

I passed one day 

From care away 
To Nature's solitude 

To bask a while 

In her sweet smile. 
And catch her patient mood. 

I longed to think 
And pleasures drink 

At her blessed fount of love. 
Where stare at night 
Look down with light 

From their fond home above. 

A cruel dart 

Had touched my heart 
And left me sad and lone; 

I sought relief 

From pain and grief 
Where God his peace had shown. 

Unbidden tears. 
Like wasted years. 

Flowed silent, fast, and long, 
Till note of bird 
My spirit stirred, 

And I was soothed with sonr. 



522 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



I thought of him 
Who died for sin; 

While 'neath the mountain's shade 
By stars' soft light 
He watched all night 

And to his Father prayed. 

My head I bowed 

And to him vowed 
I should his promise prove, 

That he would heed 

My present need; 
I felt his pity move. 

I soon forgot 

My bitter lot 
And praised ray Savior's name 

That truth and love 

Came from above 
And earth their joys could claim. 

Now, when the moil 

And wearing toil 
Of ceaseless duties press. 

In Nature's face 

I'll seek God's grace 
And tliere leave weariness. 

Anna K. Thomas. 



CONTENT TO GO OR STAY. 

The lowering sun now softly sheds 

Its fading rays of light; 
Tlie lengthening shadows o'er us spread 

Tiie mantle of the night; 

The dim horizon now conceals 

The brilliant orb of day; 
The virgin of the night reveals 

Her diamond robes so gay. 

Another day of life is spent 

In joy, in peace, or woes; 
The evening twilight fades away. 

And dafkness brings repose. 

I lay my wearied body down — 

Perhaps no more to wake. 
No work have I this day begun 

But that some one could take 

I loathe sometimes the trampled dust; 

Tlie grave seems low and still; 
But oh! I must, some day I must, 

That dark, cold chamber fill. 

Have I found life so full of ease 

That I should dread to go? 
Have I the dainty cup of peace 

Drunk while in life below? 

Not so; then, why desire to wake 
And this vain world to know, 

Perliaps to drink, yes. oft to take. 
The drops of bitter woe? 



Tlie flowers would still bloom on the same. 

As years their flight pursue; 
The ones I love would still remain. 

And victories gain anew. 

Then, Lord, I'll rest In thine own hand. 

Content to go or stay; 
Content to wake on yonder strand. 

Or here, at break of day. 

O. P. Linn. 



MORE AND LESS. 

One day more and one day less — 
Thus along our life wo press. 
One day more of life is given. 

One day less of life to brave; 
One day nearer now to heaven. 

One day less now to the grave. 

One day less and one day more — 
Farther out and nearer shore; 
Farther from the sailing-day. 

Nearer to tlie canvas furled; 
Gliding from our youth away. 

Closer to another world. 

One day more and one day less. 
Oh, the solemn thoughts that press! 
One day's prayers again have risen. 

One day's prayers less to arise; 
Love we less our earthly prison. 

Long we more for purer skies. 

One day less and one day more. 
Weaker, stronger than oefore — 
Weaker on the liuman way. 

Stronger on the upward road; 
Weaker love for things of clay. 

Stronger in the love of God. 

One day more and one day less. 
Less distrust, more righteousness. 
Oh, that ever while we live. 

Stepping on from day to day, 
God would greater favor give. 

Bright before us make tlie way! 



THE WALK BY MOONLIGHT. 

The sun his light 

And smile withdrew; 
The tears of night 
Came down in dew; 
The moon lier soft beams shed. 
And stars kept watch o'erhead; 

To rest the birds had gone 
In cunning leafy swings — 

Nor care nor sigli nor moan 
Disturbed the little things — 
The zephyrs on Eolian harp 
Played softly round my gladsome heart. 
For toil with day 
Had passed away; 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



523 



The sky was fair; 

The eveniua, calm; 
The pure, fresh air 

Seemed like love's balm 
Which springs from honest fonts 
That passion never haunts. 

I left the dusty streets 
With all tlieir noise and din, 

Wliere pain with pleasure meets 
^nd all seems marred by sin, 
And sought the quiet, peaceful glen, 
Untrod by selfish, sordid men; 
For fain I'd go 
Where peace could flow. 

'Neath sheltering- trees. 

That whispered low 
And with the breeze 
Swayed to and fro. 
I stopped beside a rill, 
That laughed and played at will; 
And there I rested long. 



And heard the little stream 

Pour forth its merry song. 
And caught its sparkling gleam. 
My lieart, like nature, all aglow 
Felt love's pure streamlet through it flow 
From God above, 
Whose name is Love! 

Long years have com© 

And passed away 
Since set the sun 
Of that fair day. 
And oft the stars at night 
Have shed their silver light. 

The moon's pale face looked down 
O er earth, all robed in green; 

But life's dark, gathering frown 
On other skies were seen, 
And I, on Nature's heart, alone. 
Am left to drink her favors shown: 
God fills the cup, 
And bears me upl 

ANNA K. TH0UA8. 



CHRISTIAN WORK, MISSIONARY. 



'all for JESUS !"- 
IT? 



-DO WE MEAN 



"All for Jesus! All for Jesus^ 

All my being's ransomed powers. 
All my thoughts and words and doings. 

All my days and all my hours." 
Thus within a curtained window 

Sang a woman's voice so sweet, 
While without upon the pavement 

Of the cold deserted street. 
All unconscious in the darkness 

Drenched by slowly falling rain. 
One (once quite as pure and tender) 

Had succumbed to cold and pain. 

Homeless, friendless, without shelter. 

She had wandered all the day. 
Till at last in sheer exhaustion 

Prone upon the ground she lay. 
There a late pedestrian found her. 

Stooping close her features scanned 
In the dim light turned upon her 

From the lantern in his hand: 
'Twas a face of wondrous beauty. 

Marred, 'tis true, by want and shame. 
But the stranger bending o'er her 

Looks in pity, — not in blame. 

Some one singing! Clearly, sweetly 

Comes the voice above the storm, 
"All for Jesus!" Stooping quickly. 

See! he lifts the dripping form; 
Up the steps he swiftly bears her. 

Pausing scarce to think before. 
'Neath his touch, the bell's loud summons 

Brings the singer to the door. 
"Madam, see! I found her lying, 

Falntlnfr on the pavement near. 
And just then T heard you singing — 

So," said he, "I brought her here." 



But alas! no ray of pity 

Shines within those starry eyes. 
As the stranger pleads, "In mercy. 

Let me in before slie dies!" 
"No," sli© said, "you can not enter. 

Up the street another square, 
Round the corner, stands a refuge; 

They'll receive her — take lier there." 
Has he heard aright, he wonders. 

Waiting just a moment more. 
Yes! she draws her silken garments 

Round her, bows, and shuts the door. 

Shocked, amazed, the kindly stranger 

To the refuge wends his way, 
jind within its pea'-eful shelter 

Soon his hcpless burden lays. 
Here kind women gather round her. 

Loving hands work with a will. 
But just once she moves her eyelids — 

Shivers, gasps, and then is still. 
And they stand with solemn faces 

Silently around the bed, 
Wliile the matron softly whispers, 

"'Twas too late, sir; she is dead." 

Yet a while the stranger lingers. 

Gazing on that lovely face: 
Of her past, Death's icy fingers 

Has not left a single trace; 
Not one mark of sin and sorrow 

Stains the whiteness of her brow; 
\\^liatsoe'er her life's dark secret. 

None can ever read it now. 

But his thoughts go all unbidden 

To the home adown the street. 
"UTiere securely rests the singer 

With the voice so clear and sweet: 
And the matron heard him murmur. 

" 'Tis indeed a bitter fate. 
Had she meant what she was singing, 

'Twould not then have been too late.' 



524 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



O my sisters warmly sheltered 

In your homes ablaze with light! 
Know ye not that souls are dying: 

Near your door — perhaps toniglit? 
Know ye not that all around you 

Lives go out in sin and shame — 
Lives that you, perchance, might rescue 

By one action "in His name"? 

"All for Jesus" — do you mean it 

As you sing it o'er and oer. 
While, mayhap, some hopeless wanderer 

Turns uncared for from your door? 
"All for Jesus" — listen, sisters: 

He who died upon the tree 
Says to us, "As you have done it 

Unto these, 'twas unto me." 

Shall we, then, sit idly singing 

While the days go swiftly by — 
Singing words unmeant, unthought of. 

Leaving blood-bought souls to die? 
Or shall we, like our dear Master, 

Hasten out to save the lost, 
Faltering not at any labor. 

Shrinking not from any cost? 

"All for Jesus! All for Jesus! — 

All our being's ransomed powers, 
[Savior, help us each to mean it]. 

All our days and all our hours." 
And when we have all surrendered. 

Thine and thine alone to be, 
O compassionate Redeemer, 

Teach us how to love like thee. 

MBS. K. K. WlLLIiMS. 



Bread of life he gave to thee, 
Pardon, peace, and victory; 
Freely give. 

JENNIB M.1ST. 



REAPER, AWAKE. 

Reapers, reapers, one and all. 
Listen to the Spirit's call; 

Work today: 
For the night is coming on. 
Sinking now the western sun. 

Work and pray. 

Reaper, in the morning bright. 
In the stillness of the night. 

He calleth thee: 
Does his Spirit plead in vain 
For that field of ripened grain 

O'er the sea? 

Reapers, reapers, far and near, 
Will you wipe the flowing tear 

While you may? 
'Way on India's trembling strand 
Helpless multitudes now stand; 

Can you stay? 

Reaper, stay not, lest you fail. 
Lest against thy soul prevail 

Tempest wild. 
Hear the Savior kindly say, 
"I'll be with thee all the way; 

Go, my child." 

Reaper, do not linger here; 
Tell the dying everywhere, 
"Look and live." 



GIVE YE THEM TO EAT. 

Scene I. 

'Tis eventide; the shadows, slowly length- 
ening. 
Upon Judeas niUtops softly dwell; 
The waves of Galilee, in crystal clearness 
Soft murmuring forth their vespers, 
gently swell. 

The ships are firmly anchored near the 
shore-line, 

For Jesus thinks a while to steal away 
From all the busy tlirong with his disciples 

To be alone witli God to rest and pray. 

But lo! what means this host that fills the 

mountain. 

This multitude with eager, watchful air? 

Wliat seek they in this wilderness so lonely? 

What search they for upon this desert 

bare? 

Both far and wide has spread the fame of 

Jesus, 

They've heard of all his wonder-working 

power; 

So thither runs tliis host from out the city, 

To seek his blessing at the evening hour. 

When Jesus sees the wearied host, and 
fainting. 
His heart is touched with great com- 
passion deep; 
He loves them as but can a loving Shep- 
herd, 
These shepherdless and lonely wandering 
sheep. 

How tenderly he looks upon the suffering! 

The faintest cry by him is quickly heard' 
He teacheth of his Father's heavenly king- 
dom; 

He healefh their diseases with his word 

"^\"hat shall we do?" his wondering dis- 
ciples. 
And anxious, question: "for the scant 
supply 
Of food we've carried here is insufficient 
That all may share a part, nor more is 
nigh. 

"Let us send them now away into the city. 
That they themselves may go and pur- 
chase meat; 
Lest they should perish here." Then faith 
the Master, 
"Ye need not send thera; give ye them to 
eat. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



525 



"How many loaves have ye?" They make 
him answer, 
"But five, and two small fishes. What 
are they 
For all this host?" "Go seat them," he 
commandeth ; 
"Well feed them in the wilderness to- 
day." 

The scene is changed: this surging human 
ocean 
Is hushed to silence — all is calm and still; 
Tliey're seated now by fifties in a com- 
pany — 
Five thousand wondering men upon the 
bill. 

Now Jesus takes the loaves, and, lookins 

upward. 

Gives thanks to God for noticing their 

need; 

And likewise with the fish. To his disciples 

He gives them both the multitude to feed. 

Oh. wondrous sight! The thousands in the 
mountain 
Partake in plenty of tliis frugal fare; 
They eat till all have satisfied their hun- 
ger. 
Of fragments gather then twelve baskets 
there. 

Rejoicing, they return into the city. 

Not weary, hungry, fainting as before. 
But blessed with food and with his words 
so gracious. 
The bread of life is theirs — what need 
they more? 

Scene II. 
'Tis eventide; the shadows slowly lengthen; 
The lowering sun sends forth a parting 
ray; 
A somber glow o'ercasts the glowing heav- 
ens; 
We near the closing of the gospel day. 

^\"hat sound is this which mounts the eve- 
ning zephyrs. 
And is wafted on their pinions soft to 
me? 
A plaintive cry, both fraught with pain 
and hunger. 
From multitudes at home and o'er the 
sea — 

A cry of deep distress and Christless an- 
guish. 
They languish, starve, and die for living 
bread; 
Our Lord beholds their plight with pitying 
glances, 
■\A"ho in the wilderness the thousands fed. 

"Let us send them now away," some one is 
crying, 
■^Hiile still their wails of hunger they re- 
peat; 
"Our store is far too small for all these 
millions." 
But salth the Master, "Give ye them to 
eat." 



How many loaves have ye? Go count them 
over. 
Ye who are blessed with heaven's boun- 
teous fare; 
Go tell the dying millions o'er the ocean 
There's bread at Father's table and to 
spare. 

Five loaves are quite enough; O soul, go 
break them; 
Thy Father's hand will add abundant 
more; 
Tliey'U make a plenteous meal, and when 
'tis ended. 
Of fragments reap a full "twelve-basket" 
store. 

Go ye to all the world and preach the gos- 
pel. 
Ye unto whom tlie bread of life is given; 
Go cast it on the waters — cast it freely. 
Perchance some band of hunger may be 
riven. 

There riseth from the long-benighted Ori- 
ent 

A cry for help. In fair yet dark Japan 
A million souls lend volume to the echo, 

"Come over and help us, ye who can." 

Forth from the throbbing heart of hea- 
then China, 
Her teeming millions send a wail of woe; 
Their yellow faces gazing to the west- 
ward. 
Await the evening message. ^Hio will go? 

Then crossing o'er the Himalayan snow- 
crests 
■U'here India's dark-hued sons in blind- 
ness dwell, 
Dread famine reigns, and grossest supersti- 
tion; 
Her myriad hosts the plea for mercy 
swell. 

And Persia's shores, scarce touched by 
ships of Zion, 
Her skies befogged, scarce tinged with 
gospel light. 
Go forth, ye true disciples of the Master! 
Speed on like swiftest horsemen in their 
flight! 

Sliall Ethiopia's darkness last forever? 
Nor shall it know the blessed gospel 
plan? 
Go spread the light from Egypt's golden 
borders 
Unto the densest shadows of Soudan! 

And shall our sister continent be forgot- 
ten — 
She who unto our doorway lies so near? 
Her people, too, are perishing with hunger: 
■WTio'U freely go with loaves and fishes 
there? 



526 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



still here and there the islands of the 
ocean, 
Like tiny specks upon its surface spread — 
They send a plaintive message o'er its 
waters; 
They languish, too, and cry for living 
bread. 

From east, from west, from north, from 
south, in Cometh, 
From far and near o'er this majestic ball, 
A universal wail of woe and hunger; 
Go tell the world there's bread enough 
for all. 

"How many loaves have ye?" again he 
asketh. 
They'll mold if left to stand upon thy 
shelf; 
Go share them with the hungry o'er the 
ocean; 
He'll multiply the fragments for thyself. 

Go ye to all the world with loaves and 

fishes 

Until the monster Hunger shall retreat. 

The multitudes still famish in the desert; 

Still salth the Master, "Give y3 them to 

eat." 

Clara M. Brooks. 



THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. 

Is thy cruse of comfort failing? 

Rise and share it with another, 
And through all the years of famine 

It shall serve thee and th.y brother. 
Love divine will fill thy store-house, 

Or thy handful still renew: 
Scanty fare for one will often 

Make a royal feast for two. 

For the heart grows rich in giving; 

All its wealth is living grain: 
Seeds that mildew in the garner. 

Scattered fill with gold the plain. 
Is thy burden hard and heavy? 

Do thy steps drag wearily? 
Help to bear thy brother's burden; 

God will bear both it and thee. 

Numb and weary on the mountain, 

Wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow" 
Chafe that frozen form beside thee, 

And together both shall glow. 
Art thou stricken in life's battle? 

Many wounded round thee moan; 
Lavish on their wounds thy balsam. 

And that balm shall heal thine own. 

Is the heart a well left empty? 

None but God its void can All; 
Nothing but a ceaseless fountain 

Can its ceaseless longings still. 
Is the heart a living power? 

Self-entwined its strength sinks low: 
It can only live in lovin.g. 

And by serving, love will grow. 



LORD, SPEAK TO ME. 

Lord, speak to me, that I may speak 

In living echoes of thy tone. 
As thou hast sought, so let me seek 

Thy erring children, lost and lone. 

Oh, lead me. Lord, that I may lead 

The wandering and the wavering feet. 

Oh, feed me. Lord, that I may feed 
Thy hungering ones with manna sweet. 

Oh, strengthen me, that while I stand 
Firm on the rock and strong in thee, 

I may stretch out a loving hand 
To wrestlers with the troubled aea. 

Oh, teach me. Lord, that I may teach 
The precious things thou dost impart; 

And wing my words, that they may reach 
The hidden depths of many a heart. 

Oh, use me. Lord, use even me 

Just as thou wilt, and when, and wliere, 
Until thy blessed face I see, 

Thy rest, thy joy, thy glory share. 

Frances RiDLKt Hatbroal. 



THE MISSIONARY CALL. 

My soul is not at rest. There come» » 

strange 
And secret whisper to my spirit, like 
A dream of night, that tells me I am on 
Enchanted ground. Why live I here? the 

vows 
Of God are on me, and I may not stop 
To play with shadows or pluck earthly 

flowers 
Till I my work have done and rendered up 
Account. The voice of my departed Lord — 
"Go teach all nations" — from the Eastern 

world 
Floats on the night air and awakes my ear. 
And I will go. I must not hesitate 
To give up friends and home and idle hope*, 
And every tender tie that binds my heart 
To thee, my country! WJiy should I re 

gard 
Earth's little store of borrowed sweets? I 

sure 
Have had enough of bitter in my cup 
To show that never was it his design 
Who placed me here, that I should lie In 

ease 
Or drink at none but pleasant fount* 

Henceforth 
It matters not If storm or sunshine be 
My earthly lot, bitter or sweet my cup. 

I only pray: "God, fit me for the work; 
Oh! keep me holy and my spirit nerve 
For the stern hour of strife. Let me but 

know 
There is an arm unseen that holds me up. 
An eye that kindly watches all my path. 
Till I my earthly pilgrimage have done. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



527 



Let me but know I have a Friend that 

waita 
To welcome me to glory, and I joy 
To tread the dark and death-fraught wil- 
derness. 
And when I come to stretch me for the last, 
In unattended agony beneath 
The cocoa's shade, or liflt my dying eyes 
From Afric's burning sands, it will be 

sweet 
That I have toiled for other worlds than 
this. 

I know I shall feel happier than to die 
On softer bed. And if I should reach 

heaven — - 
If one that hath so deeply, darkly sinned: 
If one whom ruin and revolt have held 
With such a fearful grasp; if one for whom 
Satan hath struggled as he hath for me, — 
Should ever reach that blessed shore, oh, 

how 
This heart will glow with gratitude and 

love! 
And through the ages of eternal years. 
Thus saved, my spirit never shall repent 
That toil and suffering once were mine be- 
low. 



CHRIST IS BORN. 

Rude the manger crib and lowly 
Where the little babe most holy. 

Calmly sleeping lay; 
But an angel brought from heaven 
Sweetest message to man given — 

"Christ is born today." 

Souls by sin's dark pall benighted, 
With their joys and hopes all blighted. 

Caught a gleaming ray 
From the telling of that story 
That filled heaven and earth with glory- 

"Christ is born today." 

Christ is born, yet men are dying:. 
For the world in sin is lying: 

Many do not know 
That from glory's shining portals 
God's dear Son, to save poor mortals. 

Came so long ago — 

Do not know our loving Jesus 
Gave his life, an offering precious. 

Those who do believe 
Find the chains of sin all riven. 
And at last to yon bright heaven 

Entrance shall receive. 

Up. then, be thou not unheeding; 
While these souls for light are pleading, 

They in darkness grope. 
Sad and bitter is their crying. 
For in heathen lands they're dying 

Without God or hope. 

Bear the gospel of salvation, 
Sound it forth fo every nation 
Over all the earth; 



Hasten, hasten! do not tarry, 
But the joyful tidings carry 
Of the Savior's birth. 

Miai T. Bajuiett. 



TWO PENNIES. 

Two beautiful, shining pennies, 

Bright and yellow and new! 
Don't tell me about the heathen, 

I want them myself, I do. 

I want a top and some marbles, 
A sword, and a gun tliat shoots, 

A candy cane and trumpet, 
A knife, and a pair of boots. 

But then, what if I were a heathen. 

With no precious Bible to tell 
The story of Jesus, our Savior, 

"S\Tio loves little children so well? 

For Jesus, you know, may be asking 

This question of you and me: 
"Did you carry my love to your brothers 

And sisters 'way over the sea?" 

I guess you may send them my pennies; 

Perhaps in some way they will grow; 
For little brooks grow to be rivers. 

And pennies make dollars, you know. 

I'm not very wise, but there's one thing 
I think must be certainly true: 

If little boys ought to give pennies. 

Big men ought to give dollars; don't you? 



DID YOU DO IT FOR JESUS? 

Did you speak a word of love today — 

A word of hope and cheer? 
Did you bring a smile on some one's face? 

Did you wipe some burning tear? 

Did you speak of Jesus to the lost? 

Did your light shine pure and bright? 
Did it lead some lonely, broken heart 

From darkness into light? 

Did you praise your God for life and health, 
For the peace and joy within? 

For a spotless heart that he can keep 
Midst a world of woe and sin? 

Did you do your very, very best 

In fighting for your Lord? 
Forgetting things which are behind. 

Did you read and love his Word? 

Did you lose all sight of self today? 

Did you bravely bear your cross? 
Did you only long for holiness. 

And count all else but dross? 

Oh! may your answer ever be. 

WTiile in this world you stay, 
"Yes; for my loving Savior's sake 

I did it all today." 



52li 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



WHAT OF TODAY? 

Wo shall do so much in the year to come. 
But what have we done today? 

We shall eive our gold in a princely sum, 
But what did we give today? 

We shall lift the heart and dry the tear, 

We shall plant a hope in the place of fear; 

We shall speak the words of love and cheer, 
But what did we speak today? 

We shall be so kind in the afterwhile. 
But what have we been today? 

We shall bring: to each lonely life a smile. 
But what have we brought today? 

We shall give to truth a grander birth 

And to steadfast faith a deeper worth; 

We shall feed the hungering souls of earth. 
But whom have we fed today? 

We shall reap such joys in the by and by, 
But what have we sown today? 

Wo shall build up mansions in the sky. 
But what have we built today? 

'Tis sweet in the idle dreams to bask. 

But here and now do we do our task? 

Yes; this is the thing our souls must ask — 
"What have we done today?" 



"vessels of mercy, prepared 
unto glory." 

Bora. 9 : 23. 

"Vessels of mercy, prepared unto glory; " 
This is your calling and this is your Joy! 

This, for the new year unfolding before ye, 
Tells out the terms of your blessed em- 
ploy. 

Vessels, it may be, all empty and broken, 
Marred in the Hand of inscrutable skill, 
(Love can accept the mysterious token!) 
Marred but to make them more beautiful 
still. 

Jer. 18:4. 

Vessels, it may be, not costly or golden; 

Vessels, it may be. of quantity small; 
Yet by the Nail in the sure place up- 
holden. 
Never to shiver and never to fall. 

laa. 22:23. 24. 

Vessels to honor, made sacred and holy. 
Meet for the use of the Master we love. 

Ready for service all simple and lowly. 
Ready, one day, for the temple above. 
2 Tim. 2; 21. 

Yes. though the vessels be fragile and 
earthen, 
God hath commanded his glory to shine; 
Treasure resplendent henceforth is our bur- 
then. 
Excellent power, not ours but divine. 
2 Cor. 4:5, 6. 



Chosen in Christ ere the dawn of creation, 
Chosen for him to be Hlleu with his 
grace, 
Chosen to carry the streams of salvation 
Into each thirsty and desolate place. 

Acts 9: 16. 

Take all thy vessels, O glorious Finer; 
Purge all the dross, that each chalice 
may be 
I'ure in thy pattern, completer, diviner. 
Filled with thy glory and shining for 
thee. 

Prov. 25: 4. 

FSANCES RIDLEI UaVUBOAL. 



a cry from FOREIGN FIELDS. 

[The following lines were suggested by an Incldeul 
which occurred in South Africa. As a missionary 
was preaching to a group of natives in the Congo 
Free State, an old chief approached him ar»d eald : 
"Why didn't you tell us sooner? Why didn't .rou 
let m know?"] 

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" 

The words came sad and low; 
"O ye who know the gospel truth*. 

Why didn't you let us know? 
Tlie Savior died for all the world. 

He died to save from woe. 
But we never heard the story; 

Why didn't you let us know? 

"You have had the gospel message; 

You have known a Savior's love; 
Your dear ones passed from Christian 
homes 

To the blessed land above: 
Why did you let our fathers die. 

And into the silence go 
With no thought of Christ to comfort? 

Why didn't you let them know? 

"W« appeal to you, O Christians, 

In lands beyond the sea; 
Why didn't you tell us sooner 

Christ died for you and me. 
Nineteen hundred years have passed 

Since disciples were told to go 
To the uttermost parts of the earth and 
teach; 

Why didn't you let us know? 

"You say you are Christ's disciples. 

That you try his work to do; 
And yet his very last command 

Is disobeyed by you! 
'Tis, Indeed, a wonderful story — 

He loved the whole world so 
That he came and died to save us — 

But you didn't let us know. 

"O souls redeemed by Jesus, 

Think what your Lord hath done! 

He came to earth and suffered 
And died for every one; 

He expects you now to tell it 
As on your way you go — 



POEMS OF RELIGION — Christian Work, Missionary. 



52d 



But you kept the message from us; 
Why didnt you let us know? 

"Hear this pathetic cry of ours, 

O dwellers in Christian lands; 
For the heathen stand before you 

With pleading, outstretched hands. 
You may not be able to come yourself. 

But seme in your stead can go: 
Will you not send us teachers? 

Will you not let us know? 



ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND SOULS 
LOST EVERY DAY. 

A hundred thousand souls a day 
Are passing one by one away; 
In Christless guilt and gloom, 
Without one ray of hope or light. 
With future dark as endless night. 
They're passing to their doom. 

The Master's coming draweth near. 
The Son of man will soon appear. 
His kingdom is at hand; 
But ere that glorious day can be. 
This gospel of the kingdom we 
Must preach in every land. 

Oh! let us, then, his coming haste; 
Oh! let us end this awful waste 
Of souls that never die. 
A thousand million still are lost; 
A Savior's blood has paid the cost; 
Oh. hear their dying cry! 

They're passing, passing fast away, 

A hundred thousand souls a day. 

In Christless guilt and gloom. 

O Church of Christ, what wilt thou say 

When in the awful judgment-day. 

They charge thee with their doom? 



INDIA S CALL FOR THE GOSPEL. 

From the banks of storied Indus, 

From its idol-burdened plains, 
Comes the plaint of starving Hindus, 

And the clank of galling chains; 
'Tis the voice of teeming millions. 

Calling for the living Bread, 
■Which came down to earth's pavilions. 

Whereby multitudes were fed. 

Hear those pleading tones of sadness 

From dark India's distant land: 
"Bring the heathen light and gladness. 

Health and love from Father's hand." 
Note the seer's prophetic vision — 

"Look ye ends of earth, and live" — 
And eternal Love's decision, 

Full salvation freely give. 

Louder than the clash of armor. 

Louder than the din of war, 
Comes the cry, "There's wheat to garnerl 

Fields are ripe, both near and far. 



Come and help us! " Hark! they're weep- 
ing — 

"One another's burdens bear." 
Go ye forward for the reaping 

Or remain and serve in prayer. 

Oh! the sounds of speechless sorrow 

Rise above the deep, blue sea; 
And as zephyrs' wings they borrow. 

They are wafted home to me. 
Cult of Moslem, Brahman, Buddhist, 

Castes and creeds which bring no peace- 
Castes whose system each seems crudest, 

And enslaves its devotees. 

By the Savior's great commission — 

"Go ye into all the world" — 
Tou can change their lost condition 

With the gospel truths unfurled. 
For the Christ-life they are calling; 

He has power to heal and save. 
Help, protect, and keep from falling 

All for whom his life he gave. 

Touched with pity and compassion. 

Came he down to save your soul, 
And your life to mold and fashion 

For his praise while ages roll: 
Reap by high or lowly station. 

Scatter kindness everywhere, 
"Go ye therefore teach all nations"; 

Glean each sheaf with loving care. 

ANNl K. THOUAS. 



DO SOMETHING TODAY. 

You're longing to work for the Master, 

Yet waiting for something to do; 
You fancy the future is holding 

Some wonderful mission for you; 
But while you are waiting the moments 

Are rapidly passing away. 
O brother, awake from your dreaming! 

Do something for Jesus today. 

Go rescue that wandering brother 

T%"ho sinks 'neath his burden of woe; 
A single kind action may save him, 

If love and compassion you show. 
Don't shrink from the vilest about you. 

If you can but lead them from sin; 
For this is the grandest of missions — 

Lost souls for the Master to win. 

Go sing happy songs of rejoicing 

With those who no sorrows have known; 
Go weep with the heart-broken mourner; 

Go comfort the sad and the lone: 
From pitfalls and snares of the tempter 

Go rescue the thoughtless and wild: 
Go win from pale lips a "God bless you"; 

Go brighten the life of a child. 

Oh, never, my brother, stand waiting; 

Be willing to do what you can; 
The humblest service is needed. 

To fill out the Father's great plan; 
Be earning your stars of rejoicing 

While earth-life Is passing away; 



530 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Win some one to meet you in glory- 
Do something for Jesus today. 



THE CRY OF THE HEATHEN. 

A cry is ever sounding 

Upon my burdened ear, 
A cry of pain and anguish, 

A cry of woe and fear: 
It is the voice of myriads 

Who grope in heathen night; 
It is the cry of Jesus 

To rise and send tliem light. 

With every pulse's beating 

Another soul is gone. 
With all its guilt and sorrow, 

To stand before the throne, 
And learn with awe and wonder 

The story of that grace 
Which God to us has trusted 

For all our fallen race. 

Oh, how the Master's bosom 

Must swell with love and pain 
As ever more they meet him — 

That sad and ceaseless train! 
And if he holds us guilty 

For all our brothers' blood, 
Wliat answer can we offer 

Before the throne of God? 



YOUR MISSION. 

Hark! the voice of Jesus crying: 

"W^ho will go and work today? 
Fields are white and harvest waiting: 

Wlio will bear the sheaves away?" 
Loud and strong the Master calleth; 

Rich reward he offers thee: 
Wlio will answer, gladly saying, 

"Here am I; send me, send me"? 

If you can not cross the ocean. 

And the heathen lands explore, 
You can find the heathen nearer; 

Tou can help them at your door. 
If you can not give your thousands, 

Tou can give the widow's mite: 
And the least you do for Jesus, 

Will be precious In his sight. 

If you can not speak like angels. 

If you can not preach like Paul, 
Tou can tell the love of Jesus, 

Tou can say he died for all. 
If you can not rouse the wicked 

With the jiid^rment's dread alarms, 
Tou can lead the little children 

To the Savior's waiting arms. 

If you can not be 'he watchman. 
Standing high on Zion's wall. 

Pointing out the path to heaven, 
OfTering life and peace to all, — 



With your prayers and with your bounties 
You can do what Heaven demands; 

You can be like faithful Aaron, 
Holding up the prophet's hands. 

If among the older people 

You may not be apt to teach — 
"Feed my lambs," said Christ, our Shep- 
herd ; 

"Place the food within their reach." 
And it may be that the children 

You have led with trembling hand. 
Will be found among your jewels 

When you reach the better land. 

Let none hear you idly saying, 

"There is nothing I can do," 
■S\niile the souls of men are dying 

And the Master calls for you. 
Take the task he gives you gladly; 

Let his work your pleasure be; 
Answer quickly when he calleth, 

"Here am I; send me, send me!" 

Danibl Maboh, 



WHAT ARE THE CHILDREN SAY- 
ING? 

I hear the voices of children 

Calling from ove^ the seas; 
The wail of their pleading accents 

Comes borne upon every breeze. 
And what are the children saying, 

Away in those heathen lands, 
As they plaintively lift their voices 

And eagerly stretch their hands? 

"We grope in the midst of darkness. 

With none M'ho can guide aright. 
Oh, share with us, Christian children, 

A spark of your living light!" 
This, this is the plaintive burden 

Borne hitherward on the breeze; 
These are the words they are saying:, 

Those children beyond the seas. 



THE STARLESS CROWN. 

They tliat tvirn many to righteousness shall sblno 
ns the stars forever and ever. — Dan. 12:3. 



Wearied and worn with earthly cares, I 
yielded to repose. 

And soon before my raptured sight a glori- 
ous vision rose. 

I thought, whilst slumbering on my couch, 
in midnight's solemn gloom, 

I heard an angel's silvery voice, and radi- 
ance fill my room. 

A gentle touch awakened me; a gentle 
whisper said, 

"Arise, O sleeper, follow me": and through 
the air we fled. 

We left the earth so far away that like a 
speck it seemed, 

And heavenly glory, calm and pure, acroa* 
our pathway streamed. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



531 



Still on we went. My soul was wrapped 

In silent ecstasy; 
I wondered what the end would be, what 

next should meet mine eye. 
I knew not how we journeyed through the 

pathless fields of light, 
Wlien suddenly a change was wrought, 

and 1 was clotned in white. 
We stood uefore a city's walls most glori- 
ous to behold; 
We passed through gates of glistening 

pearl, o'er streets of purest gold. 
It needed not the sun by day, the silver 

moon bv night; 
The glory of the Lord was theie. the 

Lamb himself its ^i^ht. 
Bright angels paced the shining stmets, 

sweet music filled the air. 
And white-robed saints with glittering 

crowns, from every clime were there; 
And some that I had loved on earth stood 

with them round tiie throne, 
"All worthy is the Lamb," they sang, "tiie 

glory his alone." 
But fiiirer far than all beside, I saw my 

Savior's face; 
And as I gazed he smiled on nie with won- 
drous love and grace. 
Lowly I bowed before his throne, over- 
joyed that I at last 
Had gained the object of my hopes; that 

earth at length was past. 
And then in solemn tones he said, "Wliere 

is the diadem 
That ought to sparkle on thy brow — 

adorned with many a gem? 
I know thou hast believed on me, and life 

through me is thine. 
But where are all those radiant stars that 

in thy crown should shine? 
Yonder thou seest a glorious throng, and 

stars on every brow. 
For every soul they led to me they wear 

a Jewel now! 
And such thy bright reward had been if 

such had been thy deed, 
If thou hadst sought some wandering feet 

In path of peace to lead. 
I did not mean that thou shouldst tread 

the way of life alone. 
But that the clear and shining light which 

round thy footsteps shone 
Should guide some other weary feet to my 

bright home of rest: 
And thus in blessing those around, thou 

hadst thyself been blest." 



The vision faded from my sight; the voice 
no longer spake; 

A spell seemed brooding o'er my soul which 
long I feared to break; 

And when at last I gazed around, in morn- 
ing's glimmering light, 

My spirit fell overwhelmed beneath that 
vision's solemn sight. 

I rose and wept with chastened joy that yet 
I dwelt below: 

That yet another hour was mine my faith 
by works to show; 



Tliat yet some sinner I might tell of Je- 
sus' dying lov* 

And help to lead some weary soul to seek a 
home above. 

And now, while on the earth I stay, my 
motto this shall be; 

To live no lunger to myself, but him who 
died for me; 

And graven on my inmost soul this word 
of trutli divine: 

"They that turn many to the Lord bright 
as the stars shall shine." 



NOT NOW, MY CHILD. 

Xot now, my child: a little more rougli 
tossing, 
A little longer on the billows' foam; 
A few more journeyings in the desert dark- 
ness, 
And then the sunshine of thy Father's 
home. 

Not now; for I have wanderers in the dis- 
tance. 
And thou must call them in with patient 
love. 
Not now; for I have sheep upon the moun- 
tains. 
And thou must follow them where'er they 
rove- 
Not now; for I have loved ones sad and 
weary ; 
^Mlt thou not cheer them witn a kindly 
smile? 
Sick ones, who need thee in their lonely 
sorrow; 
Wilt thou not tend them yet a little 
while? 

Not now; for wounded hearts are sorely 
bleeding. 
And thou must teach those widowed 
hearts to sing. 
Not now; for orphans' tears are quickly 
falling; 
They must be gathered 'neath some shel- 
tering wing. 

Go, with the name of Jesus, to the dyin.T, 
And speak that name in all its living 
power; 
WTiy should thy fainting heart grow chill 
and weary? 
Canst thou not watch with me one little 
hour? 

One little hour! and then the glorious 
crowning. 
The golden harp-strings, and the victor's 
palm! 
One little hour' and then the halleluiah! 
Eternity's long, deep, thanksgiving psalm! 
MK8. Oathebinb Pennefathbb. 



532 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



HAVE WE DONE WHAT WE COULD? 

fi 

"She hath done what she could," said the 
kind, loving Savior 
Wlien the ointment so precious was 
poured on his head 
By the hand of a sinner redeemed through 
his mercy. 
Her contrition displayed by the tears that 
she shed. 

Have we done what we could in the white 
fields around us, 
Where the ripe erain for reapers invit- 
ingly waits? 
Have we done what we could leading souls 
out of darkness? 
Into light tliat is shining through heav- 
enly gates? 

Have we done what we could in extending 
the kingdom 
That in power and glory shall ever in- 
crease? 
Have we done what we could filling earth 
with the homage 
Of the Savior, whose praises shall never- 
more cease? 

Are we bringing the gift of true love to 
the Savior? 
Are we honoring Jesus, so gentle and 
good? 
Oh, how sweet it will be when our service 
is ended. 
If we hear his voice say, "Ye have done 
what ye could"! 

jBNNia Wilson. 



YET NOT FORSAKEN. 

Lonely, and yet not alone; 

Troubled, but not distressed; 
Tempted, but not overthrown; 

Burdened, and yet at rest; 
Filled, yet ever feeding; 

Planting, but never done; 
Ever with sinners pleading. 

The Christian race to run; 
Scattering seeds by the wayside. 

Watering the same with tears. 
Expecting a golden harvest 

To behold in after-years; 
Under the blood-stained banner, 

In meekness bearing the cross. 
Proving to these around us 

That we count all else but dross; 
Sitting in heavenly places. 

Surrounded by hosts unseen: 
Clothed with spotless garments 

Made perfectly white and clean; 
Filled with heavenly music; 

In harmony with God, 
Who from our sorrow frees us. 

Though we feel the chastening rod. 
While waiting for the Master 

And passing through the flame, 



Each cross our way makes brighter 

As we triumph in his name. 
Ha makes each passing sorrow 

A blessing in . disguise. 
And points us to a mansion — 

Our home beyond the skies. 
O Jesus, blessed Jesusl 

To sink beneath the wave 
Is only to rise higher 

And claim thy power to save! 

GMMl I. COSTOM, 



THE FIELD. 

"Among so many what are they — 

Five loaves, two fishes small? 
Send thou the multitude away; 

We can not feed them all." 
Thus reasoned they who once had seen 

Displayed the power divine. 
Which at the Cana marriage-feast 

Changed water into wine. 

We think of earth's uncounted hosts 

Who never heard the name 
Of him who left his throne of light 

And as their Savior came; 
We shrink appalled before the thought, 

"And who are we?" we cry; 
"So few to bear the bread of life 

To those who faint and die." 

But he who in that desert place 

His banquet freely spread. 
And fed the hungry thousands there — 

Is not he still our head? 
"Go ye in all the world." he salth, 

■And everywhere proclaim 
(Wliere still earth's teeming millions wait) 

This gospel in my name." 



WHO WILL SUFFER WITH JESUS? 

[While the author of this poem was preaching the 
gospel in a Southern State he was struck on the 
bead by a briclibat. which was thrown by a persecu- 
tor. It was the occasion for the writing of these 
verses. 1 

Who will suffer with the Savior, 
Take the little that remains 

Of the cut) of tribulation 
Jesus drank in dying pains? 

Wlio will offei' soul and body 

On the altar of our God? 
Leaving self and worldly mammon. 

Take the path that Jesus trod? 

Who will suffer for the gospel. 
Follow Christ without the gate'; 

Take the martyrs for example. 
With them glory at the stake? 

Lord, we fellowship thy passion, 
Gladly suffer shame and loss; 

With thy blessings pain is pleasure; 
We will glory in thy cross. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



533 



Oh, for consecrated service. 
Mid the din of babel strife! 

Who will dare the truth to herald 
At the peril of his life? 

Soon the conflict will be over; 

Crowns await the firm and pure. 
Forward, brethren, work and suffer, 

Faithful to the end endure. 

Daniei, 3. Wax.vsi. 



NOTHING TO DO. 

Nothing to do in this world of ours! 
■WTiere weeds spring up with fairest flowers. 
Where smiles have only a fitful play. 
Where hearts are breaking every day. 

Nothing to do, thou Christian soul! 
Wrapping thee round in thy selfish stole. 
Off with the garments of sloth and sin! 
Christ thy Lord hath a kingdom to win. 

Nothing to do! There are prayers to lay 
On the altar of incense, day by day; 
There are foes to meet within and without; 
There is error to conquer, strong and stout. 

Nothing to do! There are minds to teach 
The simplest form of Christian speech ; 
There are hearts to lure with loving wile 
From the grimmest haunts of sin's defile. 

Nothing to do! There are lambs to feed. 
The precious hope of the church's need: 
Strength to be borne to the weak and faint; 
Vigils to keep with the doubting saint. 

Nothing to do! And thy Savior said, 
"Follow thou me in the path I tread." 
Lord, lend thy help the journey through. 
Lest, faint, we cry, "So much to do!" 



THE MASTER S QUESTIONS. 

Have ye looked for sheep in the desert — 

For those who have missed their way? 
Have ye been in the wild waste places. 

Where the lost and wandering stray? 
Have ye trodden the lonely highway. 

The foul and the darksome street? 
It may be ye'd see in the gloaming 

The print of My wounded feet. 

Have ye folded home to your bosom 

The trembling neglected lamb, 
And taught to the little lost one 

The sound of the Shepherd's name? 
Have ye searched for the poor and needy. 

With no clothing, no home, no bread? 
The Son of man was among them — 

He had nowhere to lay his head. 

Have ye carried the living water 
To the parched and weary soul? 

Have ye said to the sick and wounded, 
"Christ Jesus makes thee whole"? 



Have ye told my fainting children 
Of the strength of the P'ather's hand? 

Have ye guided the tottering footsteps 
To the shore of the "golden land"? 

Have ye stood by the sad and weary. 

To smooth the pillow of deatli, 
To comfort the sorrow-stricken. 

And strengthen the feeble faith? 
And have ye felt, when the glory 

Has streamed threugh the open door 
And flitted across the shadows. 

That I had been there before? 

Have ye wept with the broken-hearted 

In their agony of woe? 
Te might hear me whispering beside you, 

" 'Tis the pathway I often go." 
My brethren, my friends, my disciples. 

Can ye dare to follow me? 
Then, wherever the Master dwelleth. 

There shall the servant be! 



WHEN THE REAPERS CAME HOME. 

I saw in a vision the reapers come home. 
Each one bearing a sheaf in His name: 
Although some were larger and perfectly 
grown. 
Yet each toiler's reward was the .same. 
Some had been gathered from hedges of 
thorn. 
Some from highway and alley and street; 
But the Master knew well what each 
reaper had borne. 
As they cast their sheaves down at "nis 
feet. 

Yes, those who had gone forth with weep- 
ing were there, 
■With their trials and tears all forgot. 
And greatly rejoiced that not one single 
tear 
Had the Master accounted as naught. 
Lo, the}' were bottled with tenderest care. 

And the traces his smile soon erased, 
WJiile the welcome he gave to that heav- 
enly sphere 
Every earthly loss more than replaced. 

I timidly ventured to come with my sheaf 
(Though for years 1 had toiled, 'twas but 
small) ; 
Jleanwhile I questioned, through half- 
smothered grief, 
"TTould my gleaning be noticed at all?" 
Great was my joy when the Master spoke 
low. 
Saying, "Fear not, thy work is well 
done; 
For the by-paths you journeyed while 
gleaning below 
Were strewn o'er with many a thorn." 

Then tears, not of grief, but of gratitude, 
flowed 
From the joy that arose in my breact; 



5Si 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



For, though all unworthy, the love he be- 
stowed 
Hushed my fears into heavenly rest. 
'Twas a garland of amaranth sweeter by 
far 
Than the laurels of earth could entwine; 
For I saw my failures with love garnished 
o'er 
And my sheaf stand with others in line. 

No more do I weep when the prospect seenis 
dark. 
Nor despair over showers withheld, 
Nor seek with some earth-fancied hope to 
embark, 
That my sheaf like the others be filled; 
But gladly I'll toil in the humblest lot 

If I have bivt the Master's sweet smile. 
For the frailest torn buds from the briers 
I've sought 
Will all bloom in my sheaf after while. 

Today If my hands are inclined to hang 
down 
And my knees almost tremble with fear, 
I look up and ask when the reapers come 
home. 
That I may with the faithful be there. 
The promise grows brighter, though scanty 
the grain 
That I add to my sheaf day by day. 
And I know if the gleanings are kept in 
his name. 
In the end he will not say me nay. 

jENNia Mast. 



SOME MOTHER S CHILD. 

At home or away, in the alley or street — 

'V\''herever I chance in this wide world to 
meet 

A girl that is thoughtless or a boy that is 
wild. 

My heart echoes softly, "It is some moth- 
er's child.' 

And when I see those o'er whom long years 
have rolled. 

Whose hearts have grown hardened, whose 
spirits are cold. 

Be it woman all fallen or man all defiled, 

A voice whispers sadly, "It is some moth- 
er's child." 

No matter how deep he is sunken in sin. 
No matter how much he is shunned by his 

kin. 
No matter how foul is his fountain of joy. 
Though guilty or loathsome, he is some 

mother's boy. 

That head hath been pillowed on tenderest 
breast, 

That form has been wept o'er, those lips 
have been pressed. 

That soul hath been prayed for in tones 
sweet and mild; 

For her sake, deal gently with some moth- 
er's child 



BROADCAST THY SEED. 

Broadcast thy seed! 

Although some portion may be found 

To fall on uncongenial ground, 

Where sand or shade or stone may stay 

Its coming into light or day; 

Or when it comes, some pestilent air 

May make it droop and wither there, — 

Be not discouraged: some will find 

Congenial soil and gentle wind. 

Refreshing dew and ripening shower. 

To bring it into beauteous flower. 

From flower to fruit, to glad thine eyes 

And fill thy soul with sweet surprise. 

Do good, and God will bless thy deed. 

Broadcast thy seed! 



DROPPING A SEED. 

The land was still; the skies were gray 

with weeping; 
Into the soft brown earth the seed she 

cast; 
"Oh! soon," she cried, "will come the time 

of reaping. 
The golden time when clouds and tears 

are past!" 
Tliere came a whisper through the autumn 

haze, 
"Yea, thou shalt find it after many days." 

Hour after hour she marks the fitful gleam- 
ing 
Of sunlight stealing through the cloudy 
lift; 

Hour after hour she lingers idly dreaming, 
To see the rain fall and the dead leaves 
drift; 

"Oh, for some small green sign of life!" 
she prays; 

"Have I not watched and waited 'many 
days'?" 

At early morning, chilled and sad, she 
barkens 
To stormy winds that through the pop- 
lars blow; 

Far over hill and plain the heaven darkens; 
Her field is covered witli a shroud of 
snow; 

"Ah, Lord!" she sighs, "are these thy lov- 
ing ways?" 

He answers, "Spake I not of 'many days'?" 

The snowdrop blooms; the purple violet 
glistens 
On banks of moss that take the sparkling 
sliowers; 

Half-cheered, half-doubting yet, she strays 
and listens 
To finches singing to the shy young flow- 
ers; 

A little longer still his love delays 

The promised blessing — "after many days. ' 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



535 



"<Jh, nappy world I" she cries, "the sun is 
shining! 
Above the soil I see the springing greenl 
I could not trust his word without repining; 
I could not wait in peace for things un- 
seen. 
Forgive me, I^ordl my soul is full of praise. 
My doubting heart prolonged thy 'many 
days.' " 



THE SEED OF SONG. 

The seed of a song was cast 

On the listening hearts around, 
And the sweetly winning sound 

In a few short minutes passed. 

But a song of perfect praise 
And a song of perfect love 

Was the harvest after many days, 

Beneath the everlasting rays 
Of the summer-time above. 

The seed of a single word 

Fell among the furrows deep. 

In their silent wintry sleep. 
And the sower never an echo heard. 
But the "Come!" was not in vain. 

For that germ of life and love. 
And the blessed Spirit's quickening rain, 
Made a golden sheaf of precious grain 

For the harvest-home above. 
Will you not sow that song? 

"Will you not drop that word. 

Till the coldest hearts be stirred 
From their slumber deep and long? 
Tiien your harvest shall abound, 

'V\''ith rejoicing full and grand. 
Where the heavenly summer-songs resound. 
And the fruits of faithful work are found, 

In the glorious holy land. 

FHANCa3 RiDLEt HavEBQAL. 



THE TIDE OF SIN. 

Oh, hark! do you hear the muffled roar 
Of the waves of sin as they tumble o'er 
The rocks of time to return no more? 

Alas! they bear 
A billion souls to an endless woe; 
Tea, millions duped by a cruel foe. 
To a demon's hell now madly go; 

No hope is there. 

Behold them drift with the cursed tide. 
Their garments spotted with lust and pride. 
So carelessly do they swiftly glide 

To — where? oh! where? 
To a place of rest or calm delight. 
Or a home above where all is bright? 
Ah, no! but down to the darkest night, 

Tn sad despair. 

O Christain, where is your heart today — 
On things above and the narrow way? 
Have you a burden for souls, or say, 

"There's time to spare"? 
Are you aware, when a breath is drawn. 



That another soul has gone — has gone 
To await the judgment's awful dawn? 
Awake! beware! 

G. D. Oldham. 



IF WE WOULD. 

If we would but cueck the speaker 
When he spoils a neighbors fame; 

If we would but help the erring 
Ere we utter words of blame, — - 

If we would, how many might we 
Turn from patns of sin and shame! 

Ah, the wrongs that might be righted. 
If we would but see the way! 

Ah, the pains that might be lightened. 
Every hour and every day, 

If we would but hear the pleadings 
Of the hearts that go astray! 

Let us step outside the stronghold 
Of our selfishness and pride; 

Let us lift our fainting brothers; 
Let us strengthen ere we chide; 

Let us, ere we blame the fallen. 
Hold a light to cheer and guide. 

Ah, how blessed! — ah, how blessed 
Earth would be if we'd but try 

Thus to aid and right the weaker. 
Thus to check each brother's sigh. 

Thus to walk in duty's pathway 
To our better life on high! 

In each life, however lowly, 

There are seeds of mighty good; 

Still we shrink from souls appealing 
With a timid "If we could"; 

But God, who judgeth all things. 
Knows the truth Is, "If we would." 



GODS UNIVERSAL LOVE. 

I love to think of heaven bright, 

Of Father and of Son, 
Of holy angels gathered round 

In worship at the throne. 

I love to think of the redeemed 

On yonder shining shore, 
■UTiose hearts unite in songs of prais* 

As one, forevermore. 

I love to think of heaven's love, 

.So full, so pure, so free; 
That fount of love, so limitless. 

That fills the Uodhead, Three. 

I see that stream of love divine 
Poured forth from Calvary: 

Its tender love enrapts my heart — 
Oh, cleansing stream for me! 

I love to think of that great day 
WTien saints in him shall rise. 



536 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Made glorious then in bodies new, 
To join him in the skies. 

I love to think of endless years 

Spent with my i^ord above, 
And also with the blood-washed throng, 

The ransomed ones I love. 

I love to think of tliose I'll see 

Of all the tribes of men; 
Though varied is our lot on earth, 

As one we'll worship then. 

Made one through Christ — so when we come 

To that eternal shore. 
We'll sing of One, the 'worthy Lamb, 

And praise him evermore. 

Yet not enough that we should be 

As one when we're In heaven. 
But one on earth (the light now shines); 

One heart, one name is given. 

I hear the words of God's dear Son: 

"Go into all the world 
And tell of Heaven's redeeming love, 

'With banners wide unfurled. 

"Go, tell the gospel theme of love 

To every creature, pray ; 
Till all may know of that blest fount 

That washes sins away. " 

For God all kindreds, nations, tribes, 

■Would gather Into one. 
Both high and low, and far and near — 

All things in Christ the Son. 

The Jew shall come and e'en the Greek; 

The rich as well as poor; 
The black, the brown, and yellow, too; 

The Esquimaux, the Moor. 

The red man from the Indian tribes. 
The man that's white of face. 

Those who've been free, as well as slaves. 
Will there proclaim his grace. 

He loves them all alike, we're told 

(And so should you and I, 
If we are joined as one with him 

In blessed unity). 

O ye of every country here. 

How small indeed your place! 
'Tls God the nations hath ordained 

To show his wondrous grace. 

For it can keep the willing heart 

In any circumstance; 
And thus weak creatures of the dust 

His glory will enhance. 

Go forth, O messenger of love. 

To all the tribes of men. 
And call all nations into One 

From highway, hedge, and glen. 

Let perfect oneness be our theme 
CWe stand upon the 'Word) — 



One faltli, one mind, one doctrine true, 
One body, and one Lord. 

And let us love as brethren dear 

Xor look on outward part, 
But Judge with righteous judgment fair; 

God looketh on the heart. 

O love abounding, thou wilt draw 

From every race the same, 
A company diverse in ways, 

Yet one in heart and name. 

O brother and O sister dear. 

Of whatever race thou art. 
If we are joined in love on earth, 

In heaven we'll never part. 

Nbllu Olson. 



INTO ALL THE WORLD. 

"Into all the world" — wherever, 

Spent with doubt, the spirit lies. 
Beating fettered pinions earth^vard 

That should mount rejoicing skies: 
■\^^lere the heart with fevered craving 

Faints, the falling stream beside. 
Waiting till from founts supernal 

Flows an ever-living tide. 

"Into all the world" — no limit 

Bars Its highway o'er the earth; 
Broad as charity, unmeasured. 

Holding nations in its girth; 
Compassing all souls in darkness. 

Wrestling witn life's bitter stress; 
Wliere are feet that slip and waver 

In the toilsome wilderness. 

With a weight of sevenfold meaning 

Fall the words from lips divine. 
Knocking with a loud appealing 

At your portal and at mine. 
Oh! let not the noisy present, 

Clamorous with its trifling plea. 
Drown this solemn, parting message: 

"Into all the world, go ^'e." 

Mrs. Anna M. Huboakd. 



CHURCH OF GOD, AWAKE ! 

Despair stalks daily through the land, 
Dark-eyed despair; on every hand 

We see hks work. 
In vain they've sought in apes past. 
And shall they sink in w*oe at last 

Through our neglect? 
In vain they've sought the living way; 
In vain they seek, they seek today; 

And we've the light. 
The light of heaven our souls doth save, 
And yet for them our Savior gave 

His precious blood. 
Alone, alone, with none to save. 
With none to tell of him who gave 

His life for them. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, MUaionapy. 



537 



With noce to cool the aching head 
N'or of the blood for sinners shed 

To sweetly tell. 
With none to point them to the croea. 
With none to coant the awful loss, — 

They meet their doom. 
O church of God, a'^ake! arise: 
Put on thy strength, fair Zlon, rise! 

Thy light haa cotne: 
Oh. tarry not to rise and shine! 
Thy Lord has shed his U«ht dlTln« 

Upon thy head. 
Within thy wall.? alone is light; 
The heathen sit In darkest night 

Without thy ?ate«- 
Then open wide thy gates of might, 
-AJid let them not be shut by night. 

That Icings may come 
And brtng a?ain thy sons from far. 
And never more thy beauty mar 

Of da-jghters fair. 
Then send the news from shore to shore 
Thar Jerus Christ forevermore 

Is King of kings, 
Ap4 that the glory of his might 
Doth now the streets of Zlon light 

With power dinne, 
y»r-d spread abroa-i with Joyful tone — 
The Sun shall n^Ter more go down 

Xor cea?e to shine; 
And righteous now la every sod 
That numbers wtthln Zion's wall. 

For t-er are one. 

AITHH a. BotTTH'}. 



RE5CUZ THE PERISHING. 

Kaacue the per-sr. L=g. 

Care for the lying. 
Snatch them in pity from sin and the 
grave: 

^^eep o'er the erring one. 

Lift up the fallen. 
Ten tied of Jesus, the mighty to save 

Thoagh they are slighting him. 

San he Is vtuiting. 
Waiting the penitent child to receive. 

Plead with them earnestly. 

Plead with them gently; 
He will forgive If they only believe- 
Down in the human heart. 
tv the tempter, 
tto Iw ule a Umt grace eas lutuiu : 

Tooeiied try a lawtag heart. 

Wakened bj- Undoesa. 
Chorda tbat wer« brakes wOI rfbrata ooee 



tba perishing: 
Dotr de^tanda it: 
Strecgth for thy labor the Lord wtn pro- 
vide. 
Back ta t£e aarrov waj 
PadeaOy via ttem: 
TteD the poar ■■■dm i a Savior haa died. 
FijrTT I. caosar. 



REME.VIBERED. 

Fading away, iijce the stars of the morn- 
ing. 
Losing their light in the glorious mil; 
Thus would we pass from the earth and ita 
tolling. 
Only remembered by wiiat we have done. 

Shall we be missed though by others suc- 
ceeded. 
Reaping the Selds that In springtime 
were sown? 
N"o; for the sowers may pass from their 
labors. 
Only remembered by what they h-ave 
dooe- 

Only the truth that In life we have spolcen. 
Only the seed that on earth we have 
sown. — 
These shall pass onward when we are for- 
gotten. 
Fruits of tlie har-.es-. and what .wo 
have done. 

Oh! wtieo the Savior aball aake up iiia 

When tiw bclgbt eroraa of l e jo l fclag ar» 

won. 
Then shall the weary and faithful dla- 
dples 
All be reaMBAoed by what ther have 



ONE MORE DAY S WORK FOR JESUS. 

One more days work for Jesus. 
One leas of life for me: 
But heaven la nearw. 
.And Christ Is dearer. 
Than yesterday to me: 
His love and Kght 
Fill all my sod tonight. 

One more day's work for Jeaos; 
How glorioua la my King! 
Tla Joy. not duty. 
To speak hla beauty: 

My soul mounts on the wing 
At the rneir^ tliooght 
How Christ my life haa bougiit 

One ^tsre day's work for Jeaoa: 
How rweet the work haa been. 
To tell the story. 
To show the glory. 
When Chrlsf 3 Sock enter in! 
How It did shine 
IB this poor heart o< miaa! 

Oos Miw e duty's wxirk for Jeaoa — 
Oh yea. a weary day! 

But heaven shinea clearer. 
And rest comes nearer, 
.4t each step oC Oce way. 
.\nd Christ tn an — 
Before his face I fall 



5:>8 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Oh, blessed work for Jesus! 
Oh, rest at Jesus' feet! 

There toil seems pleasure, 
My wants are treasure, 
And pain for him is sweet. 
Lord, if I may, 
I'll serve another day. 

ANNl WiBNEB. 



NO CHILDREN S GRAVES IN CHINA. 

No children's graves in China, 

The missionaries say; 
In cruel haste and silence, 

They put those buds away; 
No tombstones marK their resting, 

To keep their memory sweet; 
Their graves, unknown, are trodden 

By many careless feet. 

Xo children's graves in China, 

That land of heathen gloom; 
They deem not that their spirits 

Will live beyond the tomb; 
Xo little coffin holds them. 

Like to a downy nest; 
X'o spotless shroud enfolds them, 

Low in their quiet rest. 

X'o children's graves in China; 

Xo parents ever weep; 
No toy or little relic. 

The thoughtless mothers keep; 
Xo mourners e'er assemble 

.\round the early dead; 
And flowers of careful planting 

Ne'er mark their lowly bed. 

No children's graves in China, 

■U'ith sad and lovely ties. 
To make the living humble 

And point them to the skies; 
Xo musings pure and holy 

Of them when day is done. 
Be faithful, missionary. 

Tour work la just begun! 

A. J. E1D8ON. 



MISSIONARY HYMN. 

[On the d«.T before Whitsunday. 1819, at Wrei- 
ham. England, the author of this hymn was asked 
to write something suitable to sing at the mission- 
ary service to l>e held the following day. He with- 
drew to a distant part of the room and there com- 
poseil these four beautiful stanzas. Seven years 
later he laid down his life on the mission field of 
India.] 

From Greenland's icy mountains. 

From India's coral strand; 
Where Afrlc's sunny fountains 

Roll down their golden sand; 
From many an ancient river, 

From many a palmy plain. 
They call us to deliver 

Their land from error's chain. 



What though the spicy breezes 

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle; 
Though every prospect pleases. 

And only man Is vile? 
In vain with lavish kindness 

The gifts of God are strown; 
The heathen, in his blindness, 

Bows down to wood and stone. 

Can we, whose souls are lighted 

By wisdom from on high — 
Can we to men benighted 

The lamp of life deny? 
Salvation, oh, salvation! 

The Joyful sound proclaim. 
Till earth's remotest nation 

Has learned Messiah's name. 

Waft, waft, ye winds, his story; 

And you, ye waters, roll. 
Till, like a sea of glory. 

It spreads from pole to pole; 
Till for his ransomed people. 

The Lamb for sinners slain. 
Redeemer, King, Creator, 

In bliss returns again 

REUl.NALD HEBEB. 



THE RIGHT MUST WIN. 

It may seem hard to work for God, 

To rise and take his part. 
Upon this battle-field of life. 

And not sometimes lose heart. 

He hides himself so wondrously 
As though there were no God; 

He least is seen when all the powers 
Of HI are most abroad; 

Or he deserts us at the hour 

The fight Is all but lost. 
And seems to leave us to ourselves 

Just when we need him most. 

Ill masters good; good seems to change 

To ill with greatest ease; 
And, worst of all, the good with good 

Is at cross purposes. 

Ah! God Is other than we think; 

His ways are far above. 
Far beyond, reason's height, and reached 

Only by childlike love. 

Workman of God, oh. lose not heart! 

But learn what God is like, 
And on the darkest battle-fleld 

Thou Shalt know when to strike. 

Thrice blessed Is he to whom is given 

The Instinct that can tell 
That God is on the field when he 

Is most invisible. 

Blessed, too, is he who can divine 

^"here real right doth lie. 
And dares to take the side that seems 

Wrong to man's blindfold eye. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



530 



For right is right since God is God, 
And rlglit the day must win; 

To doubt would be disloyalty, 
To falter would be sin. 

Fkedebick Wiluau Fabes. 



THE MINISTRY OF SONG. 

In God's great field of labor 

All work is not the same; 
He hath a service for each one 

Who loves his holy name. 
And you to whom the secrets 

Of all sweet sounds are known, 
Rise up: for he hath called you 

To a mission of your own; 
And, rightly to fulfil it. 

His grace can make you strong. 
Who to your charge hath given 

The ministry of song. 

Sing to the little children. 

And they will listen well; 
Sing grand and holy music, 

For they can feel its spell 
Tell them the tale of Jephthah; 

TTien sing them what he said, — 
"Deeper and deeper still," and watch 

How the little cheek grows red. 
And the little breath comes quicker. 

They will ne'er forget the tale, 
Which the song has fastened surely, 

As with a golden nail. 

I remember, late one evening. 

How the music stopped, for, hark! 
Charlie's nursery door was open, 

He was calling In the dark: 
"Oh no! I am not frightened. 

And I do not want a llglu; 
But I ean not sleep for thinking 

Of the song you sang last night 
Something about a 'valley,' 

And 'make rough places plain,' 
And 'Comfort ye'; so beautiful! 

Oh, sing it to me again!" 

Sing at the cottage bedside; 

They have no music there. 
And the voice of praise is silent 

After the voice of prayer. 
Sing of the gentle Savior 

In the simplest hymns you know, 
And the pain-dimmed eye will brighten 

As the soothing verses flow. 
Better than loudest plaudits 

The murmured thanks of such, 
For the King will stoop to crown them 

With his gracious "Inasmuch." 

Sing where the full-toned organ 
Resounds through aisle and nave. 

And the choral praise ascendeth 
In concord sweet and grave. 

Sing where the village voices 
Fall harshly on your ear; 



And while more earnestly you join. 
Less discord you will hear. 

The noblest and the humblest 
Alike are "common praise." 

And not for human ear alone 
The psalm and hymn we raise 

Sing in the deepening twilight, 

When the shadow of eve is nigh 
And her purple and golden pinions 

Fold over the western sky; 
Sing in the silver silence, 

WTille the first moonl)eams fall: 
So shall your power be greater 

Over the hearts of all. 
Sing till you bear them with you 

Into a holy calm. 
And the sacred tones have scattered 

Ma nn a and myrrhr and balm. 

Sing! that your song may gladden; 

Sing like the happy rills. 
Leaping in sparkling blessing 

Fresh from the breezy hills. 
Sing! that your song may silence 

The folly and the Jest, 
And the "idle word" oe banished 

As an unwelcome guest- 
Sing! that your song may echo 

After the strain is past, 
A link of the love- wrought cable 

That holds some vessel fast. 

Sing to the tired and anxious; 

It is yours to fling a ray, 
Passing indeed, but cheering, 

Across the rugged way. 
Sing to God's holy servants, 

W"eary with loving toil, 
Spent with their faithful labor 

On oft ungrateful soil. 
The chalice of your music 

All reverently bear. 
For with the blessed angels 

Such ministry you share. 

When you long to bear the message 

Home to some troubled breast. 
Then sing with loving fervor, 

"Come unto Him, and rest." 
Or would you whisper comfort. 

Where words bring no relief, 
Sing how "He was despised 

Acquainted with our grief"; 
And. aided by His blessing. 

The song may win its way 
Willie speech had no admittance. 

And change the night to day 

Sing when His mighty mercle« 

And marvelous love you feel. 
And the deep joy of gratitude 

Springs freshly as you kneel; 
When words, like morning .starlight, 

Melt powerless. — rise and sing, 
And bring your sweetest music 

To Him, your gracious King 
Pour out your song before Him 

To whom our best Is due: 
Remember, He who hears >'our prayer 

Will hear your praises too 



540 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Sing on in grateful gladness! 

Rejoice in this good thing 
Which the Lord thy God hath given thee, 

The happy power to sing. 
But yield to liim, the Sovereign, 

To wliom all gifts belong, 
In fullest consecration. 

Your ministry of song, 
Until his mercy grant you 

That resurrection voice. 
Whose only ministry shall be 

To praise him and rejoice. 

FBANCB9 RiDLIi:? UAVERQAL. 



WHAT SHALL WE WISH? 

W« wish for the lands and the gold of 
earth; 
We wish for an honored name, 
For the things that we count of greatest 
worth. 
That lead to the iieiglits of fame. 
Thus we waste our lives, and we toil in 
vain; 
For our riches will soon decay, 
And we shall stand with tlie judgment- 
train. 
Oh! what shall we wish that day? 

Shall we think of our little earthly hoard 

And wish we had gathered more? 
And sigh that the barns where it was 
stored 

Were so small they were running o'er? 
Ah! with sickening glance at the earth we 
trod. 

We shall turn from Its scenes away. 
To face the great judgment-bar of God. 

Oh! what shall we wish that day? 

AV'* shall ■■lew all the millions by our side 

Who never the gospel heard; 
We shall think how little we cared, nor 
tried 

To send them a single word; 
W© shall hear a voice like the rolling seas — 

■^^ile a tliorn-pierced form we shall see — 
"Inasmuch as ye've done It Uinto these, 

Te have done it unto me." 

We shall think of the good we might have 
done, 

Had we loved our Savior more; 
Of the glittering crown we might have won 

Had we shared the thorns he wore. 
Oh! our selfishness and idle ease — 

How In that day we shall see! 
"Inasmuch as ye've done it unto these. 

Ye have done It unto me." 

Those words will pierce to the very soul 

And burn like a flery brand. 
"O God! has our service been so small?" 

We shall cry as there we stand. 
In woe we shall think of the years then 
past, 

Those years we spent in vain; 
And the opportunities slighted, lost, 

W© shall wlBh were ours again. 



Wte shall wisli we liad labored night and 
day 

In fervent prayers and tears 
That a liarvest sown in faithful way. 

Might be reaped in endless years; 
That the lioarded store we treasured long. 

Had been scattered far and wide; 
Tlien we should not see this wailing throng 

Lost, lost in tlie surging tide 

God lielp us, then, our treasures to lay 

In life at Jesus' feet. 
That wlien we face the judgment-day. 

Not frowns but smiles we shall meet; 
No wail nor sigh o'er treasured hoard, 

Nor wislies then in vain; 
Our lives all given to our Lord 

Are what we shall wish they'd been. 
Clara M. BaooKS. 



A TRIBUTE. 

[TbesG lines are in memory of Mrs. Sarab B. 
JudsOD. .seconil wife <tf A(li,Du-uni Jiidson. Slic died 
Sept. 1, l.S4o. on ber return journe.r to America after 
twentj'-one years of missionary life. 1 

Blow softly, gales! a tender sigh 

Is flung upon your wing; 
Lose not the treasure, as ye fly; 
Bear it wliere love and beauty He, 

Silent and withering. 

Flow gently, waves! a tear Is laid 

Upon your heaving breast; 
Leave it witliin yon dark rock's sliade. 
Or weave it In an iris braid. 

To crown the Cliristian's rest 

Bloom, ocean isle! lone ocean isle! 

Thou keepcst a jewel rare; 
Let rugged rock and dark defile. 
Above the slumbering stranger smile 

And deck her couch with care. 

Weep, ye bereaved! a dearer head 
Never left the pillowing breast; 
The good, tlie pure, the lovely fled, 
■V^^len. mingling with the shadowy dead. 
She meekly went to rest. 

Mourn, Burmah, mourn! a bow which 
spanned 

Thy cloud has passed away; 
A flower has withered on thy sand, 
A pitying spirit left tliy strand; 

A saint has ceased to pray. 

Angels, rejoice! another string 
Has caught the strains above; 

Rejoice, rejoice! a new-fledged wing 

Around the throne is hovering 
In sweet, glad, wondering love. 

Blow, blow, ye gales! wild billows, roll! 

Unfurl the canvas wide! 
On! Where she labored lies our goal; 
Weak, timid, frail, yet would my soul 

Fain be to hers allied. 

Ehilt O. JnosoH. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Christian Work, Missionary. 



,5*1 



"what matter?" 

Wliat matter, friend, though you and 1 

May sow, and others gather? 
We build, and otliers occupy. 

Each laboring for the other? 
WTiat though we toll, from sun to sun. 

And men forget to Hatter 
The noblest work our hands have done? 

If God approves, what matter? 

\^^lat matter, though we sow in tears, 

And crops fail at the reaping? 
What though the fruit of patient years 

Fast perish In our keeping? 
Upon our hoarded treasures, floods 

Arise and tempests scatter? 
If faith beholds, beyond the clouds, 

A clearer sky, what matter? 

■What matter, though our castles fall. 

And disappear while building; 
Though "strange handwriting on the wall" 

Flame out amid the gilding? 
Though every idol of the heart 

The hand of death may shatter. 
Though hopes decay and friends depart. 

If heaven be ours, what matter? 

H. TV. Tellkb. 



SWEET REST TO COME. 

Te workers in God's vineyard, 

■^^Tio work with might and main. 
Though weak and faint and weary, 

Tou labor not in vain. 
'Twill not be always toiling, 

'Twill not be always grief; 
The happy day is ha.«;tlng 

That brings us sweet relief. 

Oh! this shall stimulate us 

To bear the heat of day. 
In service of the Master, 

Wlio will the "penny" pay; 
In deeds of noble daring, 

By brain and tongue and pen. 
The Master comes at twilight; 

We shall be rested then. 

Then cheerfully we'll labor, 

And mingle toil and song; 
In earnest, good endeavor. 

The weakest may be strong. 
None but the true and faithful 

The promises can test; 
None but the weary worker 

Can know the sweets of rest. 

Then up! to work, ye idlers 

The day is waning fast; 
This is no time for sleeping — 

The time for sleep is past; 
The fields are white to harvest. 

The gleanlng-tlme is come, 
The day of toll Is ending. 

We soon shall rest at home. 



THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL. 

The memory of tbe Just is blessed. — Prof. 10: 7, 

Up and away, like the dew of the morning. 
Soaring away to its home in the sun; 

So let me steal away, gently and lovingly. 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

My name and my place and my tomb all 
forgotten, 
The brief race of time well and pa- 
I tiently run. 

So let me pass away peacefully, silently. 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

Gladly away from this toil would I hasten. 
Up to the crown that for me has been 
won, — 
Untliought of by man, in rewards or in 
praises. 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

Up and away, like the odors of sunset 
That sweeten the twilight as darkness 
comes on; 
So be my life — a thing felt but not noticed. 
And I but remembered by what I have 
done. 

Tes, like the fragrance that wanders in 
freshness 
Wlien the flowers that it comes from are 
closed up and gone; 
So would I be, to this world's weary dwell- 
ers. 
Only remembered by what I have done. 

Needs there the praise of the love-written 
record — 
The name and the epitaph graven on the 
.stone? 
The things we have lived for, let them be 
our story. 
We ourselves but remembered by what 
we have done. 

I need not be missed; if my life has been 
bearing 
(As its sunimer and autumn moved si- 
lently on) 
The bloom and the fruit, and the seed of 
its season, 
I shall still be remembered by what I 
have done. 

I need not be missed, if another succeed me, 
To reap down those fields which in 
spring I have sown. 
He who plowed and who sowed is not 
missed by the reaper; 
He is only remembered by what he has 
done. 

Not myself, but the truth that in life 1 
have spoken; 



542 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Not myself, but the seed that in life I 

have sown, — 
Shall pass on to ages, — all about me for- 

grotten. 
Save the truth I have uttered, the things 

I done- 



So let my living be, so be my dying. 

So let my name be unblazoned, unknown; 
Unpralsed and unmissed, I shall yet be re- 
membered; 
Yes — but remembered by what I have 
done. 

HOBATinS BONIB. 



EXPOSTULATION, WARNING, PENITENCE. 



JESUS PLEADS. 



Waal aileth thee? Thou storm-beat, sad- 
eyed child. 
Why thy step so heavy and so slow? 
Thy liead bent low, as a bulrush in a storm? 
Thou seemest almost listless. As I look 
1 see thee far, far different than I would; 
1 see thee old and worn before thy time; 
And I had meant such better tilings for 

thee. 
Come, let us reason, child, in confidence; 
Give up to me thy stubbornness and pride, 
And in exchange receive my wliolesome 

love. 
How often have I tried to talk to thee 
And tell thee of the blessings I had planned 
To shower on thee; but tliou wouldst 

naught of me. 
And I was forced to turn away and grieve, 
And leave thee to thyself with but such 

things 
As might sustain the outward man a while, 
And wait and wait to see if thou wouldst 

turn 
And want me. This care, too much for thee. 
Would be but as a feather in my strength. 
And I would bear thee up on eagles' wings. 
Come, let us reason, child, together now. 
And I will tell thee yet again the way 
And how I'd guide thee to the little Hock 
That feeds on living green beside the stream. 
I need thee, child, today. Already mine 
By right of purchase; and a claim more 

strong 
I yet will urge — thou art my handiwork; 
Yet naught but willing service pleaseth me. 
Break up the fallow ground, give me thine 

heart. 
Humble thyself to tell me all the wrong 
That lodgeth there. Thy brother, search 

him out 
And ask him back the bitterness thou gavest 
In other years, when thou didst act the 

part 
Of the oppressor; nor cease thy diligence 
Tin thou restore him all thine 111 got gain. 
Hast thou been sorely wounded in the fray? 
Has venomed arrow stung thee to the 

heart? 
Forgive, forgive, and as thou dost pour out 
The canker sore, my love shall fill the space. 
And I will heal thee of thy plague. Go, 

sin no more. 
Lest some worse thing befall thee, and 

I turn 
Away and leave thee to thyself, as thou 
dost choose 



To follow out the bent of thine own will. 
Come, poor child! give me thine heart to- 
day. 
And I, seeing of the travail of my soul. 
Am satisfied. 



OUT OF THE FOLD. 

Out on the mountain so dark and wild. 

Far, far away from the fold. 
Lay a lamb dying — without shepherd's care. 

Out in the mountain cold, 
Its coat all matted with briers and burrs, 

Famished for want of food. 
Chilled by the blast and drenched with 
the rain, 

Alone in the dismal wood. 

Loving, the tender shepherd went 

To the mountain so wild and gray. 
Took the lamb in his kindly arms. 

Bore It gently away — 
Back to the shelter and warmth and ore, 

Back to the fold and food. 
Cared for it there so tenderly 

Nor left it to die in the wood. 

Are you alone on the mountain of sin. 

Out where the wind blows cold. 
Out in the darkness where all is lost. 

Away from the Shepherd's fold? 
Let Jesus tenderly bring you back 

To shelter and warmth and food. 
Nor linger longer away from the fold. 

Dying alone in the wood. 

LOKAIH McLaim. 



NOW IS THE ACCEPTED TIME. 

Come to Jesus now and live; 
To him all your service give; 
See life's ensign floating o'er you. 
Heaven's portals ope before you; 
Mercy's waiting to restore you, 
■Why the Spirit longer grieve? 

Now Is the accepted time, 
Now the day of grace be thine; 
Let him save, his arms enfold you; 
Let him send or let him hold you; 
Let him fashion, shape, and mold you. 
As doth please his love divine. 



POEMS OF RELIGION— Expostulation, Warning, Penitence. 543 



If you truly would rejoice. 
Make the Lord your only choice; 
Let not every spirit lead you, 
For the Lord alone can feed you. 
Soul and body; he doth need you 
'Mong- his saints to lend your voice. 

Is the Lord entreating thee? 
List, then, to his earnest plea; 
He has promised to protect you. 
Sweetly nourish and direct you; 
Blesslnsrs rich and rare await you 
In salvation full and free. 

Clinton a. Hebwick. 



THOU LOVEST NOT ME. 

In sin and In sorrow 

Thou hast traveled along; 
Thou hast loved the vain pleasures 

Of the world's giddy throng. 
Through sin and through sorrow 

I have waited for thee: 
I have wept and entreated; 

Yet thou lovest not Me. 

Thy hopes have been blighted; 

They liave withered and died; 
For all hope without God 

Must liave death by its side. 
They were blighted in mercy. 

That to Christ thou shouldst flee. 
And be safe for eternity; 

Yet thou lovest not Me. 

Thy pathway through life 

Has been marked with much care. 
And sickness and trials 

Have been sent thee to bear; 
I sent them as warnings — 

I sent them to thee; 
Tet, sinner, thou knowest 

Thou lovest not Me 

And the friends thou hast loved. 

In their beauty and bloom. 
Have been snatched from thy side, 

And are laid in the tomb; 
But the message has passed 

Unheeded by thee; 
Thou still art unsaved. 

For thou lovest not Me. 

And the shadows of midnight 

Are skrrtlng^ the sky. 
And wrath Is Impending — 

God's wrath from on high; 
And mercy — free mercv- — 

Rejected by thee. 
Is drawing down Judgment; 

Tet thou lovest not Me. 

Say, wtiderer, say — 

Shall I leave thee alone? 
Shall I let thee go on, 

As the • holce is thine own? 
I I'ave warned, I have mourned, 

I have wept over thee. 



I have bled, I have died; 
Yet thou lovest not Me. 

Ah, come to thy Savior! 

Come, weary one, come! 
Though thy sins be as crimson, 

Yet for thee there is room. 
Oh, tarry not, linger not! 

I am waiting for thee, 
To save thee, to bless thee. 

Though thou lovest not Me. 

I ask thee for nothing — 

Come Just as thou art; 
Come sinful, come guilty. 

Come give Me thine heart; 
The fountain Is open, 

It is open to thee; 
Let thy Savior not say, 

"Thou lovest not Me." 



THE LAST CALL. 

An angel was sent from the portals of 
light 
To a palace of lofty domain; 
He came in the bloom of a dark threat'niTig 
night, 
With a bosom sore burdened with paim; 
He bore from the Master glad tidings of 
peace 
And a mes.sage of warning as well. 
Proclaiming a pardon and happy release 
From that place where the wicked must 
dwell. 

The palace was lighted all seemly and fair. 

Reflecting no vestige of sin; 
The costliest garments that wealth could 
prepare 
Were worn by the dwellers within. 
The angel stood long at the threshold, but 
vain 
■U'ere the words that he tenderly bore; 
The message of peace and the warnings so 
plain 
Were disdainfully turned from the door. 

Undaunted he hastened o'er city and plain. 

Detained not by tempest and cold. 
In loving remembrance, forbearing no pain. 

To deliver the message untold. 
He visited homes where God's lovellght 
once shone, 

■WTiere today but a glimmer was seen. 
Reminding each heart where the cross was 
laid down. 

When the laurels of earth came between. 

He went to the vales where were beautiful 
homes 
Surrounded by vineyards and grain. 
Whose fruitage abundant replenished the 
domes 
Scattered far over the rich fertile plain: 
He warned them of offerings long sinca 
withheld. 



544 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



And of gold that was cankered with 
dross; 
While God's rich abundance their store- 
houses filled, 

His dear cause was suffering loss. 

He told of his poor ones unsheltered and 
cold, 
And of orphans left out in the street; 
Of souls that were dying- for truth yet un- 
told, 
Whom no message of pardon could greet. 
He told how his oxen, so faithful and true, 

Were muzzled in treading the corn; 
Of weights the dear Master himself only 
knew. 
That, If willing, their hands might have 
borne; 

Of toilers who labored, travailing in prayer, 

Whose hands unsupported would fail. 
With heart and mind burdened with in- 
creasing care. 
Unles.s strengthened, could scarcely pre- 
vail. 
If tithes long forgotten were willingly 
brought. 
If the first of their substance were given. 
The sin-sick and dying would quickly be 
sought, 
Till the roll would be lengthened in 
lieaven. 

Then some of the hearts before selfish and 
cold. 
In contrition began to atone. 
And willingly brought of their substance 
Wliile they wept o'er the work left un- 
done. 
The angel sped on to the lowly estate 
Of the sorrowful, needy, and poor. 
And at the bare threshold 'twas needless to 
wait 
Or to linger without closed door. 

Here heart-broken mothers sat weeping 
alone, 
"WTille the children were crying for bread, 
Whose fathers were down in the licensed 
saloon 
Or slain with their numberless dead. 
Through sickness and poverty, hunger and 
pain. 
Such as no other bosom could know. 
The angel assured them again and again 
That their ransom was paid long ago. 

He told of the supper tlie Master pre- 
pared. 
And how those who were bidden refused; 
If willingly each one might have sump- 
tuously fared. 
But by many the call was abused. 
The rich, with their coffers of silver and 
gold. 
Had no ti've for religion and prayer; 
The cross and the thorns and the warnings 
foretold 
Found no place in their palaces fair. 



However, the supper was furnished with 
guests. 
For the lowly rejoiced in his love. 
And in the lone bosom the chorus of peace 

Moved the angelic choirs above. 
They wept o'er the thorns and the cross 
that he bore. 
While awaiting the marriage to come. 
But not one of tliose who were bidden be- 
fore 
Ever came to that heavenly home. 

JCNNiH Mast. ' 



THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER. 

To the home of the fatlier returning, 

The prodigal, weary and worn. 
Is greeted with joy and thanksgiving. 

As when on his first natal morn. 
A robe and a ring is his portion, 

The servants as suppliants bow. 
He is clad in fine linen and purple, 

In return for his penitent vow. 

But ah! for the prodigal daughter 

Who has wandered away from her home. 
Her feet must still press the dark valley 

And through tlie wild wilderness roam. 
Alone on the bleak barren mountain, 

The mountain so dreary and cold. 
No hand is outstretched in fond pity. 

To welcome her back to the fold. 

But thanks to the Shepherd whose mercy 

Still follows the sheep though they stray! 
The weakest and e'en the forsaken, 

He bears on his bosom away; 
And In the bright mansions of glory. 

Which the blood of his sacrifice won, 
There Is room for the prodigal daughter 

As well as the prodigal son. 



TOO LATE. 

His life on earth was ebbing very fast. 

And soon the sun of day 
Would sink behind the western hills, and 

cast 
Its lengthening shadows over him as It 
passed. 
And then speed swiftly onward in its way. 

Once, in his youthful days, that had gone 
by. 
He walked in peace, content with Christ 
alone; 
Unda\inted, stood life's storms without a 

sigh ; 
Hastened his Lord's return, with him to fly: 
But now his heart was lifeless as a stone. 

He left the pleasant paths of peace to plod 
In tempting fields, in ways that lead to 
death ; 
In paths of pleasure and of hist he trod. 
Forgetful of his friends, his vows, his God; 
But now he calls for him with dying 
breath. 



POEMS OF RELIGION — Expostulation, Warning, Penitence. 51.5 



In manhood's days he sowed no golden 
grain, 
Supposing life and health would last; 
Refused the blood of Christ for earthly 

gain: 
He has no sheaves; he weeps, but weeps in 
vain; 
For sin deceived him, and liis prospects 
all are past. 

The sun sinks noiselessly behind the hill; 

'Tis night; but darker yet impending fate; 
Loved ones look on, and pray for mercy 

still; 
His eyes look up; they saze with dreadful 
chill; 
His cold lips tremble wltli tlie parting 
words, "Too late!" 

J. Grant .\ndbrson. 



"come unto me." 

Come when the ray of early morn is glow- 
ing, 
And sparkling drops give sweetness to 
the flower; 
The free wild bird and streamlet onward 
flowing 
Send up their holiest anthems at this 
hour. 

Come when the morning of your hopes is 
brightest. 
With joyful soul undimmed by care and 
strife; 
Come Willie the youthful heart Is bound- 
ing lightest; 
"Come unto Me," and find eternal life 



Come when the full meridian sun is beam- 
ing 
And fearful clouds the far horizon line; 
Come when the lightnings, o'er the dark 
clouds streaming. 
The \*ildest agents of the storm com- 
bine. 

"Come unto Me" whene'er life's anxious 
toiling 
Shall wake the passions in tlie troubled 
breast, 
■When grief and care around the heart are 
coiling; 
"Come unto Me, and I will give you rest." 



Come when the curtains of the west are 
shading 
Each pictured scene with half-reflected 
light; 
Come when the last dim ray from earth is 
fading, 
And, with the parting day, rise o'er the 
night. 



Come when the rush of fevered life is over. 
The long and weary march is soon to 
cease. 
When closing shadows round the vision 
hover; 
"Come unto Jle," and I will give you 
peace. 



FOLLOW ME. 

■Voyager on life's troubled sea. 
Sailing to eternity. 
Turn from earthly things a'way; 
Vain they are, and brief their stay; 
Chaining down to earth the heart, 
Nothing lasting they impart. 
Voyager, wliat are they to thee? 
Leave them all, and follow Me. 

Traveler on the road of life, 
Seeking pleasure, finding strife, 
Know the world can never give 
Aught on which the soul can live; 
Grasp not riches, seek not fame — 
Shining dust and sounding name. 
Traveler, what are they to thee? 
Leave them all, and follow Me. 

Wanderer from thy Father's throne. 
Hasten back, thine errings own; 
Turn — thy path leads not to heaven; 
Turn — thy sins will be forgiven: 
Turn — and let thy songs of praise 
Mingle with angelic lays. 
Wanderer, here is bliss for thee; 
Leave them all to follow Me! 



NOTHING TO PAY! 

Nothing to pay! ah, nothing to pay! 
Never a word of excuse to say! 
Tear after year thou hast filled the score. 
Owing thy Lord still more and more. 

Hear the voice of Jesus say, 
"Verily thou hast nothing to pay! 
Ruined, lost, art thou, and yet 
I forgive thee all that debt." 

Nothing to pay! the debt is so great! 
What will you do with the awful weight? 
How shall the way of escape be made? 
Nothing to pay! yet it must be paid! 

Hear the voice of Jesus say, 
"Verily thou hast nothing to pay! 
All has been put to my account; 
I have paid the full amount." 

Nothing to pay! yes, nothing to pay! 
Jesus has cleared all the debt away. 
Blotted it out with his bleeding hand! 
Free and forgiven and loved you stand. 

Hear the voice of Jesus say, 
"Verily thou hast nothing to pay! 
Paid is the debt, and the debtor free! 
Now I ask thee, Lovest thou me?" 

Frances Ridlis Havekoal. 



546 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE WORLD IN SIN. 

The world in sin is dying, 

Yet Jesus came to save: 
With outstretched arms he's crying, 

"My life for thee I gave." 
The ransom price was given 

Redemption to insure, 
That we might enter heaven 

And be forever pure. 

The world in sin is sinking 

Still lower every day; 
Vain one, art thou not thinking 

How soon 'twill pass away? 
"Then down to awful torment — 

O Lord! can it be so! — 
■Thy soul at any moment 

May with reluctance go. 

The world in sin is careless, 

And few there are indeed 
Who love the sacred Bible, 

Who will its counsel heed. 
Their ears are dull of hearing; 

Their eyes are blinded, too; 
Their hearts are void of feeling. 

Deceitful and untrue. 

The world in sin grows harder 

Each day in everj' clime; 
Inspired with evil ardor. 

Slides down the steeps of time. 
■The masses madly rushing 

On sin's relentless tide. 
Where demon foes are crushing 

The souls for whom Christ died. 

The world in sin is sleeping — 

Dread soul-destroying spell. 
Like palsy o'er them creeping, 

To drag them down to hell. 
[Infatuated mortals, 

Lured on by treacherous wrong. 
Will miss yon heaven's portals 

And hopeless die erelong. 

The world in awful stupor 

Is dreaming of delight 
In some millennial future. 

When wrong will all be right; 
But sad will be the picture 

In God's great judgment-day. 
To see these souls, with demons, 

Forever turned away. 

The world in sin's dominion 

Refuses Christ, who died. 
Whose favor brought salvation; 

And there's no hope beside. 
"Tet time enough," says Satan, 

Who mocks the wretched doom 
Of sinners near perdition. 

Who have in lieaven no room. 

•The world in sin is ruined; 

Its withering, blighting curse 
Is on the evil masses. 

And still they're growing worse: 
■Their hearts are vain and trifling. 

And bent to wicked greed; 



Conviction they are stifling; 

God's Word they will not heed. 

The world in sin is sleeping 

On time's eternal brink. 
But soon with bitter weeping 

To torment It will sink; 
Despite of God's great mercy 

Bestowed on them each day. 
They'll hear his voice in Judgment, 

"Depart from me for aye." 

B. E. Wabsbk. 



THE BREAKERS ARE AHEAD. 

Friend sailor, does the balmy breeze 
Now softly fan life's silent seas — 

A gentle calm instead 
Of frowning skies and boistrous waves, 
Wlien king of tempest madly raves? 

The breakers are ahead. 

Your little bark so softly glides 
O'er rising aid departing tides; 

No thought of danger now. 
The sky so red assures you well, 
No rising surfs around you swell, 

No frown upon your brow. 

Thus cradled on the rocking deep. 
So recklessly you fall asleep, 

"Ultliout a sigh or care. 
Without preparing for the storm. 
No thought of danger or of harm. 

Without an uttered prayer. 

Thus on life's vast unfathomed sea. 
Where every human form must be, 

Are multitudes asleep. 
Without provision, on they sail; 
All warnings are of no avail — 

They slumber on the deep. 

The sinner with his liardened heart. 
Without a compass or a chart, 

Is drifting to and fro; 
But fast the current bears him on 
To broadened seas, with landmarks gone, 

But where he does not know. 

Ah! sinner friend, tlie trackless sea 
No place of safety has for thee; 

The breakers are ahead. 
Now fast the darksome clouds of sin. 
To burst forth in the tempest's din. 

Are gathering o'er thy head. 

The night is coming by and by; 
No light shall pierce the sable sky, 

No guiding stars so fair; 
But falsely shall thy fleeting bark 
Be guided in the awful dark 

To regions of despair. 

Dashed by the breakers you shall fall. 
Not one to hear ynijr wailing call 

Or lend a helplnc hand 
Too late! you've reached the other shore 
Where darkness reigns forevermore — 

A desert home and land. 



POEMS OF RELIGION-Expostulation, Warning, Penitence. 



547 



Take warning, then, and heed the Guide 
Who every rock and wave has tried, 

And wills to see you through. 
He bids the raging storms be still; 
The waves and winds obey his will 

He's calling now to you. 

o. p. Lraw. 



BLIND — DEAF — DELIVERANCE 

Blind, totally blind! 
No more to view a loved one's face; 
No more behold a form of grace 
Nor see the little children gay 
In childish glee about their play; 
No more the tuneful birds to see 
As quick they Hit from tree to tree; 
No more observe the lovely flowers 
Wliich come with spring and summer show- 
ers; 
And never the landscape fair to view, 
Nor the lofty mount, nor sea so blue. 
Nor towering trees with foliage fair. 
Nor blowing orchards fruitage rare. 

Deaf, literally deaf! 
No more to hear a loved one's voice 
To cause thy sad heart to rejoice. 
Or list again to childish prate 
Of little ones, thy heart to sate; 
No more to hear the songbird's lay 
Amidst the boughs from day to day; 
The cheery whir of humming bees. 
Nor gentle sighing of the breeze. 
Nor mighty song of ocean's roar; 
To hear its crashing waves no more; 
No sound of nature's voice to hear. 
Not even a note thy heart to cheer. 

Harken! Jesus heals! 
Look upward, soul, there's help above; 
Oh, hear that voice that speaks in love! 
The blinded eyes he'll open wide. 
While looking to that pierced side; 
The deafened ears he will unclose 
By faith be healed of all thy woes. 
New courage take! Behold again 
The works of God and art of men. 
And hear once more sweet Nature's voice 
Oh, let thy saddened heart rejoice! 
Believe his promise full and free: 
"I am the Lord that healeth thee." 

Blind, spiritually blind! 
And can not see the noble plan 
Of God to save poor sinful man. 
Nor see that proffered, outstretched hand 
That's beckoning to a better land. 
Nor even his lovely, smiling face, 
■WTiile thee he freely offers grace; 
Tea, blinded to that look of love 
That's beaming on thee from above. 
Nor seest thou the reeking cross; 
Blind, blind to all but earthly dro»s. 
Salvation's beauties — none to see. 
They're only hidden mystery. 



Deaf, spiritually deaf! 
And can not hear that loving voice 
Which pleadeth, •'Make me now thy choice." 
But still he calls the wanderer home; 
"Come unto me, O lost one, come! 
1 am the only way that's given 
For weary souls to enter heaven." 
Yet deafened ears but turn away 
From pleading tones, nor weep, nor pray, 
Nor yet can hear that thunder-blast 
That warns of judgment tire at last, 
And bids them seek the heavenly home — 
A refuge from the wrath to come. 

Balm, Gllead'8 balm! 

The Lord that caused the scales to fall 
From off the blinded eyes of Paul 
Would cause thine own dim eyes to see 
His precious promises to thee; 
Thy deafened ears he'll cause to hear 
That voice which speaks thy heart to 

cheer. 
Then, look to him, of sin repent; 
For unto thee his Son was sent. 
And on the cross his blood was split 
To save thee from thy sin and guilt. 
Then ope thine eyes, his mercy see; 
Oh, hear! his promise is for thee! 

Evi M. Wbai. 



SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND. 

Oh! where shall I find Jesus, 

Tills man of whom you tell? 
My heart Is touched so strangely 

While on this theme you dwell; 
It seems to me some painted dream; 

I'm fevered with unrest. 
To you he seems so real and true: 

Tour face speaks calm and rest. 

Oh! come with faith, believing 

That he has long been waiting 
To clasp you In his loving arms; 

Then stand no more debating. 
"Oh! come to me. thou wandering one. 

And I will bear your burden. 
And hope shall be your shining light. 

And love shall ue your guerdon." 

Oh! think you he would take me? 

The way seems cold and dark; 
The light that's kindled in my breast 

Seems such a tiny spark. 
Oh! Is there balm for a wounded heart 

Weary of this world's din? 
I fain would lay my burden down 

If he would let me In. 

He came to call the erring back; 

Come taste his loving kindness; 
Come enter In with all your heart. 

And he will heal your blindness. 
He is rich in love and mercy; 

His eye will guard and guide thee. 
"Take up thy cross and follow me. 

For there is none beside me." 

MiTTii Graoiw, 



548 



TREASUREvS OF POETRY. 



THE COURSE OF THE WORLD. 

Carelessly drifting, the world rushes on; 
For pleasure and folly in madness they run, 
Allured by the glitter, the pride, and the 

show: 
So careless and thoughtless, still onward 

they eo: 
Unheeding the voice of the watchman on 

high: 
■'Oh, turn ye! oh. turn ye! for why will ye 

<lie?" 

Carelessly drifting away from their God. 
Away from his people, away from his Word 
Bewitched and enchanted with sin's siren 

song. 
They plunge in the whirlpool of folly and 

wrong; 
Forgetting the holy, tlie pure, and the true; 
Still onward the follies of sin they pursue 

Carelessly drifting, the wise and the great. 
The rich and the poor, alike go to their 

fate: 
For gold and for silver, for honor and 

fame, 



So blind and deluded their glory's their 

shame: 
Forsaking true wisdom and knowledge for 

dross, 
They seek tor mere bubbles — liow great is 

their loss! 

Carelessly drifting from Jesus and right, 
Still farther and farther In sin's blackest 

night: 
The prayers and the tears of loved ones 

they crush 
Like filth in tlie streets as onward they 

rush : 
Hardening tlieir heart as an adamant stone, 
Kejecting llie blood for tlieir sins to atone. 

Carelessly drifting from lieaven and home, 
From bright fields Elysian forever to roam: 
Far, far, from God's mercy, his smiles, and 

his love, 
To suffer forever 'neath his wrath from 

above: 
The blackness of darkness they choose for 

their fate: 
They awake to their doom when, alas! 'tts 

too late. 

JAUIS B. BUNAM. 



POEMS OF CHILDHOOD 
AND YOUTH 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



551 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



TELL YOUR MOTHER THAT YOU 
LOVE HER. 

Tell your mother that you love her, 
But be sure, my little man. 

That you tell her so by helping 
Her the very best you can. 

Tell your mother that you love her, 
By the things that you can do. 

By the willing feet on errands 

To be done the wliole day through. 

Tell your mother that you love her, 
By jour scorn of sin and wrong. 

By your changeless, pure devotion. 
Sweeter than earth's sweetest song. 
Gebtsudb a.Flobt. 



THE CHILDREN. 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And the school for the day is dismissed. 
And the little ones gather around me 

To bid the good-night and be kissed,^ 
Oh, the little white arms that encircle 

My neck in a tender embrace! 
Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven. 

Shedding sunshine of love on my face! 

And when they are gone, I sit dreaming 

Of my childhood too lovely to last; 
Of love that my heart will remember 

When it wakes to the pulse of the past 
Ere the world and its wickedness made me 

A partner of sorrow and sin. 
When the glory of God was about me 

And the glory of gladness within. 

Oh! my heart grows weak as a woman's 

And the fountains of feeling will flow. 
When I think of the paths, steep and stony, 

A\Tiere the feet of the dear ones must go. 
Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them. 

Of the tempest of Fate blowing wild; 
Oh! there Is nothing on earth half so holy 

As the innocent heart of a child. 

They are idols of hearts and of households. 

They are angels of God in disguise; 
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, 

His glory still gleams in their eyes. 
Oh, those truants from home and from 
heaven! 

They have made me more manly and mild. 
And I know how Jesus could liken 

The kingdom of God to a child. 

Seek not a life for the dear ones. 
All radiant as others have done. 

But that life may have just enough shadow- 
To temper the glare of the sun. 



I would pray God to guard them from evil. 
But my prayer would bound back to my- 
self: 

Ah ! a seraph may pray for a sinner. 
But a sinner must pray for himself. 

The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod; 
I have taught them the goodness of knowl- 
edge; 

They have taught me the goodness of 
God. 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness. 

Where I shut them from breaking a rule; 
My frown is sufficient correction; 

My love is the law of the school. 

I shall leave the old house in the autumn, 

To traverse its threshold no more; 
Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones 

That meet me each morn at the door! 
I shall miss the "good-nights" and the 
kisses, 

And the gush of their innocent glee. 
The group on the green, and the flowers 

That are brought every morning to me. 

I shall miss them at morn and at eve. 

Their song in the school and the street; 
I shall miss the low hum of their voices 

And the tramp of their delicate feet. 
When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And Death says, "The school is dis- 
missed," 
May the little ones gather around me 

To bid me good-night and be kissed. 

Charles Dickenson. 



DO YOUR BEST. 

Do your best, your very best. 

And do it every day; 
Little boys and little girls. 

That is tlie wisest way. 

Whatever work comes to your hand. 
At home or at your school. 

Do you your best with right good will; 
It is a golden rule. 

Still do your best, if but at pl»y 

You join the merry ring. 
Or if you play at ping-pong gay. 

Or if you skip or sing. 

ur if you write your copy-book, 

v_ir if you read or spell. 
Or if you seam or nem or knit. 

Be sure you do it well. 

For he who always does his belt. 
His best will better grow; 

But he who shirks or slights hl« task. 
He lets the better go. 



552 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



What if your lesson should be hard? 

You need not yield ,o sorrow, 
For he who bravely works today 

His task grows light tomorrow. 



MY BABY. 

For thy dear sake, my little one, 
I stifle many a bitter sigh; 

For thy sweet life I count it gain 
My cherished wishes to deny. 

Oh. sacred trust, my baby fair! 

How can I count thy worth to me? 
Salvation for my erring soul 

In tliy clear eyes I daily see. 

Dear little arms that cling and twine 
Around thy mother's lonely heart; 

Dear little hands laid in my own, 
God grant that we may never part. 

Sweet little voice and broken words, 
More eloquent than songs of love, 

A spell Is In thy lowest tones. 
That lifts me Into realms above 

ANMB RU3SBLL. 



RICHES. 

The man across the street from me 

Is rich in silver, gold, and lands; 
And in his stately mansion he 

Has servants who await commands. 
And yet, though affluence is there, 

He's poorer far than I, I ween; 
No childish laughter fills the air 

And echoes sweet across the green. 

The man across the street from me 

Owns spacious stores and business 
blocks; 
He hurries cityward to see 

The rise or fall of bonds and stocks; 
But as he leaves his door each day. 

No baby face lies against his cheek; 
No wee, sweet lips are raised to say 

The lisping words that tliey would speak. 

The man across the street from me 

Comes home perplexed with business 
cares; 
From worry he is never free, 

Arranging his immense affairs; 
And as he sits him down eacli night, 

No baby fingers smooth his face; 
He does not know the fond delight 

Of a wee little one's embrace. 

The man across the street from me 

Came over where I stood one day, 
And paused awhile where he could see 

My laughing little one at play; 
And once I thought I saw a tear 

SteaJ down his cheek; I heard him sigh. 
And then he murmured in my ear, 

"Ah, but you're richer far than I." 



O busy man across the way. 

Harassed by doubts and cares and fears, 
You're piling wealth up day by day 

To last you through the coming years; 
But when I look across the street, 

I envy not your gold nor lands; 
My wealth lies in the tender, sweet. 

Glad clasp of dimpled baby hands. 

E. A. BB1N1N8T00L. 



EVENING PRAYER. 

Father dear, I humbly bow 

At thy feet and ask thee now — 

Keep me through this dreary night; 

Wake me with the morning light; 

Let no danger hover near; 

Let no sorrow, sigh, or fear 

Break my slumber; but on the© 

Let my thoughts and dreamings be. 

Father, bless, and may I prove 

Tliat I've tasted of thy love; 

Keep my tongue, and let me talk 

Of thy goodness; help me walk 

As a Christian every day; 

Keep me ever true, I pray. 

Let no harm or sickness come 

Near our happy little home. 

In thy hands my all I lay; 

May I never from thee stray. Amen. 

W. A. BtXLIB. 



LITTLE GOLDEN HAIR. 

Goldenbair climbed upon Grandpapa's knee; 
Dear little Goldenbair, tired was she, 
All the day busy as busy could be. 

Up in the morning as soon as 'twas light, 
Out with the birds and butterflies brlsht, 
Skipping about till the coming of night. 

Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her 

head: 
"What has my darling been doing?" he said, 
"Since she arose with the sun from her 

bed?" 

"Pitty much," answered the sweet little one; 
"I can not tell, so much things I have done: 
Played with my dolly and feeded my bun; 

"And then I jumped with my little jump- 
rope: 

And then I made out of some water and 
soap 

Bootiful worlds. Mama's castles of hope. 

"And Bella and I, we went to look 

For the smooth little fishes by the side of 

the brook: 
"I afterward readed in my picture-book: 

"And then I corned home and eated my tea; 
And I climbed up on Grandpapa's knee, 
And I des as tired as tired can be." 

Lower and lower the little head pressed, 
Until it had dropped upon Grandpapa's 

breast. 
Dear Uttle Goldenbair, sweet be thy rest. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



553 



We are but children; the things that we ilo 
Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view, 
That marks all our weakness, and pities it, 
too. 

God grant that when night overshadows our 

way. 
And we shall bu called to account for our 

day. 
He shall find us guileless as Goldenhair lay. 

And oh! when aweary, may we be so blest 
As to sink like the innocent child to our 

rest, 
And to feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite 

breast. 



MAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes. 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one. 
As the braided streamlets run! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
\\niere the brook and river meet. 
Womanhood and childhood fleet! 

Gazing, with a timid glance. 

On the brooklet's swift advance. 

On the river's broad expanse! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 

Then, why pause with indecision, 
^\Tien bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by. 
As the dove, with startled eye. 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more. 
Deafened by the cataract's roar? 

O thou child of many prayers! 

Life hath quicksands! Life hath snares! 

Care and age come unawares! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon. 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many numbered; 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows. 
When the young heart overflows. 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand; 

Gates of brass can not withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 



Bear, througn sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth. 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

Oh! that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that can not heal. 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal; 

And that smile, like sunsnine, dark 
Into many a sunless heart. 
For a smile of God thou art. 

HE^'BT Wadsworth Lonofkllow, 



THE MAN IN THE BOY. 

In the acorn is wrapped the forest; 

In the little brook, the sea; 
The twig that will sway with the sparrow 
today 

Is tomorrow's sturdy tree. 
There is hope in a mother's joy. 

Like a peach in its blossom furled; 
And a noble boy, a gentle boy, 

A manly boy, is king of the world. 

The power that will never fall us 

Is the soul of simple truth; 
The oak that defies the stormiest skies 

Was upright in its youth; 
The beauty no time can destroy 

In the pure young heart is furled; 
And a worthy boy, a tender boy, 

A faithful boy, is king of the world. 

The cub of the royal lion 

Is regal in his play; 
The eaglet's pride is as fiery-eyed 

As the old bird's, bald and gray. 
The nerve that heroes employ 

In the child's young arm is furled; 
And a gallant boy, a truthful boy, 

A brave, pure boy, Is king of the world. 



THREE BUGS. 

Three little bugs in a basket. 

And liardly room for two; 
And one was yellow, and one was black, 

And one like me or you. 
The space was small, no doubt, for all; 

But what should three bugs do? 

Three little bugs in a basket, 

And hardly crumbs for two; 
And all were selfish in their hearts. 

The same as I or you; 
So the strong ones said, "We will est the 
bread. 

And that is what we'll do." 

Three little bugs in a basket. 
And tlie beds but two would hold; 

So they all three fell to quarreling — 
The white and black and the gold — 

And two of the bugs got under the ruge. 
And one was out in the cold. 



554 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



So he that was left in the basket, 

Without a crumb to chew, 
Or a thread to wrap himself withal. 

When the wind across him blew. 
Pulled one of the russ from one of the bugs. 

And so the quarrel grew. 

And so there was war in the basket; 

All, pity 'tis, 'tis true! 
But he that was frozen and starved, at last 

A strensth from his weakness drew. 
And pulled the rugs from both of the bugs, 

And killed and ate them, too! 

Now, when bugs live in a basket. 

Though more than it well can hold. 
It seems to me they had better agree — 

The white and the black and the gokl^ 
And share what comes of the beds and 
crumbs. 
And leave no bug in tlie cold. 

Alice Caet. 



MEASURING THE BABY. 

We measured the riotous baby 

Against the cottage wall; 
A lily grew at the threshold. 

And the boy was just as tall — 
A royal tiger-lily. 

With spots of purple and gold. 
And a heart like a jeweled chalice 

The fragrant dew to hold. 

His eyes were wide as bluebells. 

His mouth like a flower unblown; 
Two little feet, like funny white mice. 

Peeped out from his snowy gown; 
And we thought, with a thrill of rapture 

That yet had a touch of pain, 
"When September comes, with the golden- 
rod. 

We will measure our boy again." 

Ah me! in a darkened chamber, 

With the sunshine shut away. 
Through tears that fell like bitter rain. 

We measured the boy today. 
And the little bare feet so dimpled. 

And sweet as a budding rose. 
Lay side by side together 

In the hush of a long repose. 

Up from the dainty pillow. 

White as the rising dawn, 
Tlie little face lay smiling 

With the light of Heaven thereon; 
And the dear little hands, like rose-leaves 

Dropped from a rose, lay still. 
Never to snatch at the sunbeams 

That crept to the shrouded sill. 

We measured the sleeping baby 

With ribbons white as snow. 
For the little white velvet casket 

That awaited him below; 
And out of the darkened chamber 

We went with a childless moan; 
To the height of the sinless angels 

Our little one had grown. 



WANTED : A BOY. 

"Wanted: A boy." How often we 
That quite familiar notice see! 
Wanted: A boy to errands run; 
Wanted for everything under the sun. 
All that the men of today pursue 
Tomorrow the boys of the land must do; 
For we know that it can not be long until 
Tlie places of sires the sons must fill. 

Wanted: The world wants boys today. 
And it offers them all it has for pay: 
Honor, station, wealth, and fame, 
A useful life and a deathless name. 
Boys who will guide the plow and pen. 
Boys who will shape the paths for men. 
Boys who will forward the tasks begun; 
For the world's great work is never done. 

The world is waiting to employ, 

Not just one, but every boy 

Whose brain and arm are staunch and true 

To tasks his hands shall find to do; 

Honest, faithful, earnest, kind; 

To good awake, to evil blind; 

Whose heart of gold holds no alloy. 

Wanted: The world wants such a boy. 



THERE COME THE BOYS. 

There come the boys! Oh, dear, the noise! 

The whole house feels the racket: 
Behold the knee of Harry's pants, 

And weep o'er Bennie's jacket! 

But never mind, if eyes keep bright 
And limbs grow straight and limber; 

We'd rather lose the tree's whole bark 
Than find unsound the timber. 

Now hear the tops and marbles roll; 

The floors — oh, woe betide them! 
And I must watch the banisters 

For I know boys who ride them. 

Look well as you descend the stairs; 

I often find them haunted 
By ghostly toys that make no noise 

Just when their noise is wanted. 

The very chairs are tied in pairs 
And made to prance and caper; 

WHiat swords are whittled out of sticka! 
What brave hats made of paper! 

The dinner-bell peals loud and well 
To tell the milkman's coming; 

And then the rush of "steam-car trains" 
Sets all our ears a humming. 

How oft I say, "What shall I do 
To keep these children quiet?" 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



555 



If I could find a good receipt, 
I certainly should try it. 

But what to do with these wild boys 

And all their din and clatter 
Is really quite a grave affair — 

No laughing, trifling matter. 

"Boys will be boys" — but not for long; 

Ah, could we bear about us 
This thought — how very soon our boys 

Will learn to do without us! 

How soon but tall and deep-voiced men 
Will gravely call us "Mother," 

Or we be stretching empty hands 
From this world to the other! 

More gently we should chide the noise, 
And when night quells the racket. 

Stitch in but loving thoughts and prayers 
While mending pants and jacket. 



THE YANKEE BOY. 

The Yankee boy, before he's sent to school, 
Well knows the mysteries of that magic 

tool. 
The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye 
Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby; 
His hoarded cents he gladlj' gives to get it; 
Then leaves no stone unturned till he can 

whet it; 
And, in the education of the lad, 
No little part that implement hath had 

His pocket-knife to the young whittler 
brings 

A growing knowledge of material things. 

Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art; 

His chestnut whistle and his shingle dart; 

His elder pop-gun, with its hickory rod. 

Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad; 

His corn-stalk fiddle and the deeper tone 

That murmurs from his pumpkin-leaf trom- 
bone, — • 

Conspire to teach the boy. 

To these succeed 
His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed; 
His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze 

to win; 
His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin; 
Or, if his father lives upon the shore. 
You'll see his ship, beam ends upon the 

floor, 
Full rigged, with raking masts and timbers 

staunch, 
And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a 

launch. 

Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife 

driven, 
Erelong he'll solve you any problem given; 
Make any gimcrack, musical or mute, 
A plow, a coach, an organ, or a ilute; 
Make you a locomotive, or a clock. 
Cut a canal, or build a floating dock. 
Or lead forth beauty from a marble block; 



Make anything, in short, for sea or shore, 
From a child's rattle to a seventy-four. 
Make it, said I? Ay, when he undertakes it. 
He'll make the thing, and the machine that 
makes it. 

And, when the thing is made, whether it be 
To move on earth, in air, or on the sea, 
WHiether on water o'er the waves to glide, 
Or upon land to roll, revolve or slide; 
Whether to whirl or jar, to strike or ring, 
Whetlier it be a piston or a spring, 
Wlieel, pulley, tube sonorous, wood or brass, 
The thing designed shall surely come to 

pass; 
For when his hand's upon it, you may know 
That there's go in it, and he'll make it go. 

.lOHN PlEBPONT. 



LITTLE TOMBOY. 

See her! there she running goes! 

How the wind, jjursuing, blows, 

Playing roughly with her hair! 

She's a thistle-down in air! 

On she flutters without care. 

Even if her feet are bare; 

WHiile with merry screams of joy 

She can outrun any boy. 

Oh, she is a wind-blown sprite! 

(Some might say a wind-blown fright.) 

Can you hear that merry note 

Coming from her dainty throat? 

It is like a bugle call — 

She is whistling, that is all. 

Slie has freckles on her nose, 
But her cheeks are like a rose. 
With the healthy blood that flows 
From her fingers to her toes. 
How she poises her slight frame 
(And she's always just the same). 
Lightly tossing her bright mane. 
As she runs through field or lane! 
Who has taught her with such care? 
Wliy, she caught it from the air, 
From the rhythm in the breeze 
As it pulses through the trees, 
From the ever-dancing streams 
As they echo through her dreams; 
She's a nymph out of the wood. 
And she's seldom understood. 

You can hear her cheery laughter 

(And it wakes the echoes after) 

As she drives the cows to pasture; 

For she's not afraid to venture 

In the early morning dews 

Through tlie woods and through the 

sloughs, 
Through the pine-groves and the willows; 
While the friendly little swallows 
Sing a greeting from the thicket, 
And the little chirping cricket 
From the soft grass sounds his note- 
As if he had learned by rote; 
■While the frog's voice from the pool 



556 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Tells of wayside haunts so cool. 
All sounds mingle on the swell 
With the cow's soft tinkling bell; 
While the air is filled with smells 
Of pine boughs and sweet harebells, 
Breath of cattle, all mild-eyed. 
As she drives them all inside 
Shuts tlie bars tight until even 
Of their cool and tranquil liaven. 

Sometimes with bright pail in hand 

She sets out with merry band 

Through the primal woods serene, 

Through the fields and meadows green. 

Past the creek whose waters flow 

By the slope wliere thickly grow 

Juicy strawberries so sweet 

Hybrid berries can not beat. 

She delights in going nutting 

Ere the winds blow sharp and cutting, 

AVlien the leaves with frosts are browned 

And in beauty strew the ground, 

\\liile the squirrels scamper round, 

Taking all that can he found. 

You would think that she has wings 

As she lightly climbs and swings 

In the branches of the trees. 

She's a comrade for the breeze; 

E'en the staid oaks spread their arms. 

Glad to show oft nature's charms. 

And sublime, far-reaching view 

To one with a heart so true — 

Glad to hold her up so high 

She can almost touch the sky. 

There to look out o'er the wood 

And beyond her neighborhood. 

Out to where the brook cuts through 

Distant landscapes veiled in blue. 

Oh! you've missed indeed a joy 

Were you never a tomboy. 

Living thus in wondrous dream. 
Common things witl> beauty gleam. 
And she gives her fancy play- 
Even riding on the hay. 
Then the hay-rack from the lot 
Is a gilded chariot. 
And she, as a princess grand. 
Holds aloft a willow wand. 
Or she's anchor for a kite. 
Which is sailing just in sight 
On the blue waves of the sky; 
Clouds are islands soon passed by. 
Or with shouts of pure delight. 
Like a streak she's out of sight 
On the staid old working-horse; 
It's a circus! nothing worse. 
There she comes back on the track; 
What a rider! and bareback! 
Here is fun up to the brim, 
Grace in every lithesome limb; 
She has run the wind a race, 
And there's mischief in her face. 

Will she ever stately be? 

Can she grow up womanly 

All too soon a fairy wand 

In a subtle unseen hand 

Will transform this romping sprit* 

Right before your very sight. 



She will lose none of her charms 

Taught her without rules or forms; 

For she grew in heart benign, 

Calmed her soul at Nature's shrine. 

While her heart is full of love. 

Mixed with wisdom from above 

With the music of the trees 

As they vibrate in the breeze; 

With the harmonies of nature. 

Taught by every humble creature; 

With the sweet .smells from the dairies; 

With tlie freedom of the prairies; 

Then when caro comes to annoy 

Slie can look back with a joy — 

To once being a tomboy. 

Mllis Olson. 



ONLY A CHILD. 

Only a child; what can I do 
That will be noble, grand, and true? 
My hands are small, my voice is weak, 
I have scarcely learned to think and speak. 

Only a child, whose nimble feet 
Have ever trod 'mong grasses sweet; 
They say that thorns and thistles wild 
Will some day vex their little child. 

Only a child, and yet I know 
How to lighten another's woe. 
How to soften a hardened heart 
And bid the tear of repentance start. 

Only a child, yet I can tell 

Of Jesus' love for those who fell. 

And how to ransom us he came 

And bore the cross, despised the shame 

Only a child, yet Jesus said — 
His hand upon an infant's head — 
That in the bright and happy land 
Around his throne the children stand. 

Only a child. Oh, on that day 
\\nien heaven and earth shall pass away, 
Wlien sinners quake mid ruin wild. 
May I be Jesus' little child! 

P. !3. HiFFOKD. 



LITTLE BY LITTLE. 

One step and then another, 

.\nd the longest walk is ended; 
One stitch and then another, 

..^nd the largest rent is mended; 
One brick upon another. 

And the highest wall is made; 
One flake upon another, 

And the deepest snow is laid. 

So the little coral workers. 

By their slow and constant motion 
Have built up pretty islands 

In the distant dark blue ocean; 
And the nobler undertakings 

Man's wisdom hath conceived, 
By oft-repeated efforts 

Have been patiently achieved. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



557 



Then, do not look disheartened 

Over the work you have to do, 
And say that such a mighty task 

You never can get through. 
But just endeavor day by day 

Another point to gain, 
And soon the mountain that you feared 

Will prove to be a plain. 

"Roma was not builded in a day," 

The ancient proverb teaches; 
And Nature by her trees and flowers. 

The same sweet sermon preaches. 
Think not of far-off duties. 

But of duties which are near; 
And, having once begun to work; 

Resolve to persevere. 



A TRUE HERO. 

Here's a hand to the boy who has courage 
To be loyal to God and the right. 

Who so faithfully stands by his colors 
In the most trying tests of the fight. 

Do not say that a boy has no trials 
And that he has no crosses to bear; 

For 'tis often the foe would engulf him. 
And then drive his dear soul to despair. 

There is striving against self and com- 
panions. 

And temptations are many and strong; 
He has all life's great battles before him. 

That is trying and testing and long. 

Yet how sweetly God aids as he struggles. 

Against the vain workers of wrong. 
With "The Right" as his watch-word and 
motto, 
And with "Trueness to Jesus" his song! 

C. H. Dewet. 



SOMEBODY S MOTHER. 

The woman was old and ragged and .gray. 
And bent with the chill of the winter's 

day; 
The street was wet with a recent snow. 
And the woman's feet were aged and slow. 
She stood at the crossing and waited long — 
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng 
Of human beings who passed her by 
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. 
Down the street, with laughter and shout. 
Glad in the freedom of "school let out, " 
Came the boys, like a flock of sheep. 
Hailing the snow piled white and deep. 
Past the woman, so old and gray. 
Hastened the children on their way. 
Nor offered a helping hand to her. 
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir. 
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' 

feet 
Should crowd her down in tiie slippery 

street. 



At last came one of the merry troop, — 
The gayest laddie of all the group; 
He paused beside her and whispered low. 
"I'll help you across if you wish to go." 
Her aged hand on his strong young arm 
Slie placed, and so, without hurt or harm. 
He guided the tremoiing feet along. 
Proud that his own were firm and strong. 
Then back again to his friends he went. 
His younq- heart happy and well content. 
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know. 
For all she's aged and poor and slow: 
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand 
To help my mother, you understand. 
If ever she's poor and old and gray. 
When her own dear boy is far away." 
And "somebody's mother" bowed low her 

head 
In her home that night, and the prayer she 

said 
Was, "God be kind to the noble boy, 
Wlio is somebody's son and pride and joy!" 



BE TRUE. 

Young friends, to whom life's early days 

Are bright with promise all. 
And to whose view the glowing rays 

Of hope unclouded fall, — 
To counsel each to choose the good 
Throughout the coming years, I would 

A precept give to you: 
Observe if you success would win 
The wealth of worth embodied in 

Two little words: Be true. 

Be true to right: let justice still 

Her even balance claim; 
Unawed, unbribed. through good or 111, 

Make rectitude your aim. 
Unswayed by prejudice, thy mind 
Each day submitted claims will find 

To champion or deny; 
Then, cast, according to thy light. 
Thy influence on the side of right, 

Thougli all the world goes by. 

Be true to truth: the proudest name 

Tliat sterling worth may win 
Is soiled and tarnished past reclaim 

Wliere falsehood enters in. 
Xo gem that arduous toil may find 
In learning's fields adorns the mind 

Like truth's pure, shining ray; 
And from her presence error's crowds 
Of worshipers disperse like clouds 

Before the rising day. 

Be true to reason: let her light 

Be ever glorified. 
And make through life her beacon bright 

A fixed, enduring guide. 
False views of life young faith may blind. 
False creeds allure the youthful mind 

And its adherence win; 
But reason's steady light to thee 
An oracle of truth shall be — 

A monitor within. 



558 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Be true to self-respect: the world 

May judge thy motives wrong, 
And slander's poisoned shafts be hurled 

Where virtue moves along; 
Keep thou the upright ways that find 
The approval of thy own good mind — 

"To thine own self be true"; 
So Shalt thou proudly walk erect, 
And, conscious of thy own respect, 

Make others' honor due. 

These are the virtues, these the ways. 

That bring their own reward;' 
And to observe them all thy days 

Keep constant watch and guard. 
He who from these his guidance takes 
Gives to the race the hope that makes 

The march of man sublime; 
And each good deed, each wrong withstood, 
Lives in its influence for the good. 

Throughout all coming time. 



WANTED : A BOY. 

•' "^'anted: A boy.' Well, how glad I am 

To know that I was the first to see 
The daily paper! — so early too — 

Few boys are up — 'tis lucky for me." 
Tou hurry away through quiet streets. 

Breathlessly reaching the office door 
Where a boy was wanted, and lo! you find 

It thronged and beseiged by at least a 



"Wanted: A boy." So the place was gone; 

Tou did not get it? Well, never mind. 
The world is large, and a vacant place 

Is somewhere in it for you to find. 
Perhaps by long and devious ways 

With perils to face and battles to win, 
Obstacles great to be overcome, 

Before you reach it and enter in. 

Philosophy surely wanted a boy, 

While Franklin worked at a printer's 
case; 
Mechanics, when, low in the darkened mine. 
By an engine, Stephenson found his 
place; 
Nature, while Linnaeus, crushed and tried 
As a cobbler, toiled out his sunless 
youth; 
Freedom, ere Washington reached her arms 
From childhood, up by the way of truth. 

"■Wiinted: A boy." 'Tis written above 

Coveted places of highest renown; 
But the ladder of labor must ever be trod 
the boyish feet, ere the sign comes 
down. 
There are humble names half hidden now 
On the school day-roll, among many a 
score. 
That yet will shine as the lights of fame. 
Till boys are wanted on earth no more. 

The forum is echoing burning words 
Of orators destined to pass away; 



Tou will be wanted instead of them soon; 

Men of the future are boys today. 
The watchmen standing on Zion's walls. 

Faithfully doing the Master's will. 
Are falling asleep as the years go by; 

Wanted: A boy each place to fill. 

MAltV B. Reesb, 



REMEMBER, BOYS MAKE MEN. 

Wlien you see a ragged urchin 

Standing wistful in the street, 
With torn hat and kneeless trousers. 

Dirty face and bare red feet. 
Pass not by the child unheeding; 

Smile upon him. Mark me, when 
He's grown he'll not forget it; 

For remember, boys make men. 

When the buoyant youthful spirits 

Overflow in boyish freak, 
Chide your child in gentle accents; 

Do not in your anger speak. 
Tou must sow in youthful bosoms 

Seeds of tender mercies; then 
Plants will grow and bear good fruitage, 

^^^len the erring boys are men. 

Have you never seen a grandsire. 

With his eyes aglow with joy. 
Bring to mind some act of kindness — 

Something said to him a boy? 
Or relate some slight or coldness. 

With a brow all clouded, when 
He said they were too thoughtless 

To remember boys make men? 

Let us try to add some pleasures 

To the life of every boy. 
For each child needs tender interest 

In its sorrows and its joys. 
Call your boys home by its brightness; 

They'll avoid a gloomy den. 
And seek for comfort elsewhere — 

And remember, boys make men. 



WHEN WE WERE BOYS. 

Oh, the days when we were boys! 
Life had sunshine, health, and joys; 
Rosy, hearty, fresh, and fair, 
Full of life, we children were. 

Shoeless, hatless, coatless, too; 
Through rent garments breezes blew: 
Active, agile, playful, wild — 
Vn-io is happier than a child? 

Quick to laugh and jump and run. 
Fond of sunshine, full of fun. 
Shouting, swinging on the gate. 
Bound for school — 'You'll be too late!" 

Ah! those days have passed away; 
Brows are wrinkled, hair grown gray; 
Tet I love their cheer and noise. 
And my heart says, "Bless the boys!" 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



55» 



Bless the laughing, shouting boys, 
With their pleasures, plays, and joys! 
May they think of God in youth, 
And grow up in grace and truth. 



THE MOUNTAIN AND THE 
SQUIRREL. 

The mountain and the squirrel 

Had a quarrel, 
And the former called the latter "Little 
Prig." 

Bun replied: 

"You are doubtless very big; 
But all sorts of wind and weather 
Must be taken in together 

To make up a year 

And a sphere: 
And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my place. 
If I'm not so large as you. 
You are not so small as I, 
And not half so spry; 

I'll not deny you make 

A very pretty squirrel track. 
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; 

If I can not carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut." 

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 



PRAYING FOR SHOES. 

[A true iDcidt-nt. ] 

On a dark November morning 
A lady walked slowly down 

The thronged, tumultuous thoroughfare 
Of an ancient seaport town. 

Of a winning and gracious beauty, 
The peace of her pure young face 

Was soft as the gleam of an angel's dream 
In the calms of a heavenly place. 

Her eyes were fountains of pity, 

And the sensitive mouth expressed 

A longing to set the kind thoughts free 
In music that filled her breast. 

She met, by a bright shop window. 

An urchin, timid and thin, 
\\nio, with limbs that shook and a yearning- 
look, 

Was mistily glancing in 

At the rows and varied clusters 
Of slippers and shoes outspread. 

Some cli iTTiTTi«rintJ' IrAon hiif /^f 



shimmering keen, but of 
sheen, 
Some purple and green and red. 



somber 



His pale lips moved and murmured; 

But of what she could not hear, 
And oft on his folded hands would fall 

The round of a bitter tear. 

"What troubles you, child?" she asked him. 
In a voice like the May wind sweet. 



He turned, and, while pointing dolefully 
To his naked and bleeding feet, 

"I was praying for shoes," he answered. 

"Just look at the splendid show! 
I was praying to God for a single pair — 

The sharp stones hurt me so!" 

She led him, in museful silence. 
At once through the open door. 

And his hope grew bright, like a fairy 
light. 
That flickered and danced before. 

And there he was washed and tended, 
And his small brown feet were shod; 

And he pondered there on his childish 
prayer 
And the marvelous answer of God. 

Above them his keen gaze wandered, 
How strangely from shop to shelf. 

Till it almost seemed that he fondly 
dreamed 
Of looking on God himself. 

The lady bent over and whispered, 
"--ire you happier now, my lad?" 

He started, and all his soul flashed forth. 
In a gratitude swift and glad: 

"Happy? — Oh, yes! — I am happy. 

Then (wonder with reverence rife. 
His eyes aglow, and his voice sunk low), 

"Please tell me! Are you God's wife?"- 
Paul Hamiltox Hayxe. 



JUST SUPPOSE THESE THINGS. 

Suppose, my little lady, 

Your doll should break her head. 
Could you make it whole by crying 

Till your eyes and nose were red?- 
And wouldn't it be pleasanter 

To treat it as a Joke, 
And say you're glad 'twas dolly's 

And not your head that broke? 

Suppose you're dressed for walking, 

And the rain comes pouring down, 
Will it clear off any sooner 

Because you scold and frown? 
And wouldn't it be nicer 

For you to smile than pout. 
And so make sunshine in the house 

When there is none without? 

Suppose your task, my little man, 

Is very hard to get, 
WiU it make it any easier. 

For you to sit and fret? 
And wouldn't it be wiser. 

Than waiting like a dunce. 
To get to -nork in earnest. 

And learn the thing at once? 

Suppose that some boys have a horse, 
And some a coach and pair, 



560 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Will it tire you less while walking 

To say, "It isn't fair"? 
And wouldn't it be nobler 

To keep your temper sweet. 
And in your heart be thankful 

You can walk upon your feet? 

Suppose the world don't please you. 

Nor the way some people do. 
Do you think the whole creation 

Will be altered just for you? 
And isn't it, my boy or girl. 

The wisest, bravest plan, 
\^niatsoever comes, or doesn't come. 

To do the best you can? 

Phoebb Carv. 



TABLE MANNERS IN RHYME. 

In silence I must take my seat, 
And give God thanks before I eat: 
Must for my food in patience wait 
Till I am asked to hand my plate. 
I must not scold, nor whine, nor pout. 
Nor move my chair or plate about. 
With knife or fork or napkin-ring, 
I must not play, nor must I sing. 
I must not speak a useless word 
With prattling tongue, just to be heard. 
I must not talk about my food, 
Nor fret if I don't think it good. 
My mouth with food I must not crowd. 
Nor while eating speak aloud; 
Must turn my head to cough or sneeze. 
And when I ask, say, "If you please." 
The table-cloth I must not spoil, 
Nor with my food my fingers soil; 
Must keep my seat when I am done, 
Not round the table sport or run. 
When told to rise, then I must put 
My chair away with noiseless foot, 
And lift my heart to God above 
In praise for all his wondrous love. 



THE BAREFOOT BOY. 

Blessings on thee, little man. 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan; 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry wliistled tunes; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
With tlie sunshine on thy face 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace! 
From my heart I give thee joy: 
I was once a barefoot boy. 
Prince thou art; the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-doUared ride: 
Barefoot, trudging at his side. 
Thou hast more than he can buy 
In the reach of ear and eye — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy. 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! 

Oh, for boyhood's painless play, 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 



Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 

Knowledge never learned of schools — 

Of the wild bee's morning chase; 

Of the wild-flower's time and place; 

Flight of fowl and habitude 

Of the tenants of the wood; 

How the tortoise bears liis shell; 

How the woodchuck digs his cell, 

And the ground-mole sings his well; 

How the robin feeds her young; 

How the oriole's nest is hung; 

\Miere tlie whitest lilies blow; 

Where the freshest berries grow; 

Where the groundnut trails its vine; 

Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 

Of the black wasp's cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay; 

And tlie architectural plans 

Of gray hornet-artisans! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 

Nature answers all he asks. 

Hand in hand with her he walks. 

Face to face with her he talks. 

Part and parcel of her joy. 

Blessing on the barefoot boy! 

Oh, for boyhood's time of June. 

Crowding years in one brief moon, 

Wlien all things I heard or saw. 

Me, their master, waited for! 

I was rich in flowers and trees. 

Humming-birds and honey-bees: 

For my sport the squirrel played, 

Plied the snouted mole his spade; 

For my taste the blackberry-cone 

Purpled over hedge and stone; 

Laughed the brook for my delight 

Through the day and through the night 

Whispering at the garden-wall, 

Talked to me from fall to fall; 

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel-pond; 

Mine the walnut-slopes beyond; 

Mine, on bending orchard-trees. 

Apples of Hesperides. 

Still, as my horizon grew, 

Larger grew my riches too; 

All the world I saw or knew 

Seemed a complex Chinese toy. 

Fashioned for a barefoot boy. 

Oh, for festal dainties spread. 
Like my bowl of milk and bread 
(Pewter spoon and bowl of wood) 
On the doorstone gray and rude! 
O'er me, like a rega-l tent 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frogs' orchestra. 
And to light the noisy clioir 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 
I was monarch; pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy. 

Cheerily, then, my little man, 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can. 
Though the flinty slopes be hard. 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew; 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



561 



Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat. 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison-cells of pride; 
Lose the freedom of the sod; 
Like a colt's for work be shod; 
Made to tread tlie mills of toil, 
Up and down in ceaseless moil. 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy! 

John Geeenleap Whittieb. 



LITTLE FRECKLED GIRL. 

How I love thee, little grirl, 

With freckled cheeks and teeth of pearl, 

With thy burnished auburn curls. 

Which the playful wind unfurls! 

Thee, my little country miss. 

Guardian angels love to kiss. 

O'er thy fair face sprinkled free 

Is a rougish tracery. 

Just like gold embroidery. 

Made by dainty sunbeam fingers. 

Showing where their love still lingers. 

Thou dost not a bonnet lack. 

For it's hanging down thy back; 

Thou dost crave so to be free 

Like the wandering bird and bee. 

With thy romping feet left bare. 

Chaste with childhood's artless air; 

Singing ever as you run. 

In the shadow or the sun; 

Blithe as any merry squirrel. 

Once I was a freckled girl. 

In thy childish musing lies 

Vague and dreamy prophecies 

What the future has in store — 

Grown-up triumphs, troubles o'er — 

■S\liile within thine eyes, soul-lit, 

Enthroned there doth early sit 

A regal germ of womanhood, 

Like opening orchid in the wood. 

Within thee thrills a tender heart. 

Defending every helpless part, 

For bird or bug or creeping worm 

Or injured life in any form. 

Thou dost thirst for wisdom's store 
Gleaned from books or pictured lore. 
And with volume on thy knee 
Thou art found repeatedly; 
But thou lovest better still 
To recline by murmuring rill 
Or to roam in fragrant wood. 
Learning there from plant and bud. 
Woods and brooks and fields and skies — 
All are teachers in thine eyes. 
Thou wilt spy out the first leaf 
Of the wintergreen's pink sheath; 
And its just like thee to know 
Where the thickest berries grow; 
Where the catbird builds her home; 
When the rarest violets come; 



How the squirrel in the tree 

Descends with feet invertedly; 

How the bluejay cracks a nut. 

With his strong bill as a butt; 

Where the rarest plants are found. 

Sweet fringed gentian or hoarhound; 

Where in spring comes the first crocus 

And in pine-groves the arbutus; 

Or where "ghost-pipes, " pale and wierd, 

Thrive on dead leaves, browned and seared. 

In those years there's some alloy; 
'Tis not all sunshine and joy; 
For the boys laugh at thee there. 
Tease and mock at thy bright hair; 
Yet they surely set it sunlit — 
See the fine-spun sunbeams in it. 
Other lessons thou hast learned 
From the homely life soon spurned. 
E'en the pleasant little stream 
Lessons tell more than there'd seem — 
Just by wading on alone; 
Bruised thy feet on rocks unknown, 
Shows thee there doth always hide 
Snares unseen for feet of pride. 

Softly, then, my little maid. 
Catch the sunbeams ere they fade; 
Learn the lessons as they come; 
Let thy heart with music hum; 
Catch the song-birds' tuneful hymn; 
Fill thy heart up to the brim 
With rare sympathy and love. 
And with peace brought from above. 
Then thy face, indeed, will be 
Full of beauty all can see. 
Blessings on thee, little pearl. 
Loving, gentle, freckled girl! 

Nblliz Olson. 



BE KIND TO FATHER. 

My boy, be kind to father. 

For he's been kind to you; 
He's sought to lead you safely 

Tour life's brief pathway throush; 
He's cared for you and loved you. 

And tried to save you pain. 
And given kindly counsel — 

I hope not all In vain. 

He wants to see you happy, 

He wants to see you true; 
His hope and pride are centered, 

Believe it, boy, in you. 
How much of joy and comfort 

Is in your power to give 
This faithful, loving father. 

If rightfully you live! 

Be manly, true, and honest 

In everything that's done. 
And show him that his counsel 

Is treasured by his son. 
Be kind when old age sprinkles 

Its snowflakes in his hair. 
And make his last days happy 

With loving words and care. 



562 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



BABY S HANDS, 

Baby's hands! how daintily fine 

The beauty of their wee outline! 

A snowflake, ere its earthward flight, 

Can not be so purely white. 

No flower, no shell of sea, can lend 

The hue that tints each finger-end. 

No feathery down from eider's nest. 

No silken gauze that ever pressed 

A cheek, no zephyr from Southern lands. 

Is quite as soft as baby's hands. 



THE RAIN-DROPS RIDE. 

Some little drops of water. 
Whose home was in the sea, 

To go upon a journey. 
Once happened to agree. 

A cloud they had for carriage; 

They drove a playful breeze; 
And over town and country 

They rode along at ease. 

But oil! there were so many, 
At last the carriage broke. 

And to the ground came tumbling 
These frightened little folk. 

And through tlie moss and grasses 
They were compelled to roam. 

Until a brooklet found them 
And carried them all home. 



THE CHICKENS. 

Said the first little chicken. 
With a ciueer little squirm, 

"I wish I could find 
A fat little worm." 

Said tlie next little chicken. 
With an odd little shrug, 

"I wish I could find 
A fat little slug." 

Said the third little chicken. 
With a sharp little squeal, 

"I wish I could find 
Some nice yellow meal." 

Said the fourth little chicken, 
With a small sigh of grief, 

"I wish I could find 
A little green leaf." 

Said the fifth little chicken. 
With a faint little moan, 

"I wish I could find 
A wee gravel stone." 

"Now, see here!" said the mother. 

From the green garden patch, 
"If you want any breakfast. 

Just come here and scratch." 



WHICH LOVED BEST. 

"I love you. Mother," said little Ben; 
Then, forgetting his work, liis cap went on. 
And he was off to the garden swing. 
And left her the water and wood to bring. 
"I love you. Mother," said rosy Nell — 
"I love you better than tongue can tell"; 
Then she teased and pouted full half the 

day. 
Till her mother rejoiced when she went to 

play. 
"I love you. Mother," said little Fan; 
"Today 111 help you all I can; 
How glad I am that school doesn't keep!" 
So she rocked the babe till it fell asleep. 

Then, stepping softly, she fetched the 

broom. 
And swept the floor and tidied the room; 
Busy and happy all day was she. 
Helpful and happy as child could be. 
"I love you, Motlier, " again they said. 
Three little children .going to bed; 
How do you think that mother guessed 
Wliich of them really loved her best? 



MILLIONAIRE AND BAREFOOT BOY. 

'Tis evening, and the round red sun sinks 

slowly in the west, 
The flowers fold tlieir petals up, the birds 

fly to their nest. 
The crickets chirrup in the grass, th.e bats 

flit to and fro. 
And tinkle-tankle up the lane the lowing 

cattle go; 
And the rich man from his carriage looks 

out on them as they come — 
On them and on the barefoot boy that 

drives the cattle home. 

The rich man murmurs to himself: "Would 

I give all my pelf 
To change my lot witli yonder boy? Not 

if I know myself. 
Over the grass that's full of ants and chill 

with dew to go. 
With a stone-bruise upon either heel and 

a splinter in my toe! 
Oh, I'd rather sail my yacht a year across 

the ocean's foam 
Than be one day the barefoot boy that 

drives the cattle home." 

"I wish," the boy says to himself — "I wish 

that I were he. 
And yet, upon maturer thought, I do not 

. — no, sir-ree! 
Not for all the gold his coffers hold would 

I be tliat duffer there. 
With a liver-pad and a gouty toe, and 

scarce a single hair; 
To have a wife with a Roman nose, and 

fear lest a panic come — 
Far better be the barefoot boy that drives 

the cattle home." 

G. T. Lanisan. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



563 



CHERISH KINDLY FEELINGS. 

Cherish kindly feelings, children; 

Nurse them in your heart; 
Don't forget to take them with you 

When from home you start; 
In the school-room, in the parlor, 

At your work or play, 
Kindly thougnts and kindly feelings 

Cherish every day. 

Cherish kindly feelings, children. 

Toward tlie old and poor. 
For you know they've many blighting 

Hardships to endure; 
Try to make their burden lighter, 

Help them in their need. 
By some sweet and kindly feeling 

Or some generous deed. 

Cherish kindly feelings, children. 

While on earth you stay; 
They will scatter light and sunshine 

All along the way, 

JIake your trials less, 
And, whate'er your lot or station, 

Bring you happiness. 

MRS. M. A. KiDDBR. 



THE CHILDREN S HOUR. 

Between the dark and the daylight. 
When the night is beginning to iower. 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
That is known as the children's hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet. 
The sound of a door that is opened. 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight. 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence; 

Yet I know by their merry eyes 
They are plotting and planning together 

To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall! 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall! 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair; 

If I try to escape they surround me; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine. 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti. 
Because you have scaled the wall. 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all! 



I have you fast in my fortress. 
And will not let you depart. 

But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round- tower of my heart; 

And there will I keep you forever. 

Yes, forever and a day. 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin. 

And molder in dust away! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW- 
WHITE FLOWER. 

Innocent child and snow-white flower! 
Well are ye paired in your opening hour: 
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, 
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with 
sweet. 

White as those leaves just blown apart 
Are the folds of thy own young heart; 
Guilty passion and cankering care 
Never have left their traces there. 

Artless one! though thou gazest now 
O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, 
Soon will it tire thy childish eye; 
Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by. 

Throw it aside in thy weary hour, 
Throw to the ground the fair white flower; 
Yet as thy tender years depart, 
Keep that white and innocent heart. 

John Gbbenleaf Whittier. 



THE CHILD S MIRROR. 

"Where is the baby, Grandmama?" 

The sweet young mother calls 
From her work in the cozy kitchen. 

With its dainty whitewashed walls; 
And Grandma leaves her knitting 

And looks for her all round. 
But not a trace of Baby dear 

Can anywhere be found. 

No sound of merry prattle. 

No gleam of its sunny hair. 
No patter of tiny footsteps. 

No sign of it anywhere. i 

All through the house and garden. 

Far out into the field. 
They search each nook and corner. 

But nothing is revealed. 

And the mother's face grew pallid; 

Grandmama's eyes grew dim; ' _ ' 

The father's gone to the village — 

No use to look for him. 
And the baby lost! "Where's Rover?" 

The mother chanced to think 
Of the old well in the orchard. 

Where the cattle used to drink. 

1- •: 

"Where's Rover? I know he'd And her! 
Rover!" In vain they call. 



564. 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Then hurry away to the orchard; 

And there by the moss-grown wall, 
Close to the well lies Rover 

Holding to Baby's dress. 
She was leaning over the well's edge 

In perfect fearlessness! 

She stretched her little arms down, 

But Rover held her fast, 
And never seemed to mind the kicks 

The tiny bare feet cast 
So spitefully upon him, 

But wagged his tail instead 
To greet the frightened searchers; 

While naughty baby said, 

"Dere's a little dirl in the 'ater; 

She's dust as big as me. 
Mama, I want to help her out. 

And take her home to tea; 
But Rover, he won't let me. 

And I don't love him. Go 
Away you naughty Rover! 

Oh! why are you crying so?" 

The mother kissed her, saying, 

"My darling, understand; 
Good Rover saved your life, my dear — 

And see, he licks your hand! 
Kiss Rover." Baby struck him, 

But Grandma uJiderstood; 
She said, "It's hard to thank the friend 

Who thwarts us for our good." 



LAUGH, LITTLE FELLOW. 

Laugh, little fellow, laugh and sing, 
And just be glad for everything! 
Be glad for morning and for night. 
For sun and stars that laugh with light, 
For trees that chuckle in the breeze, 
For singing birds and humming bees; 
Be one with them, and laugh along, 
And weave their gladness in your song. 

Let nothing but the twinkle-tears 
Come to your eyes these happy years, 
Wlien you are free of task and toil 
And all the frets that come to spoil 
The hours of folk whose feet have paced 
The road along which all must haste; 
Laugh, little fellow, for it drives 
The shadows out of other lives. 

Go romping care-free as you will 
Across the meadow, up the hill. 
And shout your message far away 
For all the world to join your play. 
This is the time for laughter — now, 
When time has not set on your brow 
The finger-prints that come with care 
And leave abiding wrinkles there. 

Laugh, little fellow, laugh and sing. 
And coax the joy from everything; 
Take gladness at its fullest worth, 
And make each hour an hour of mirth. 
So that when on the downward slope 



Of life the radiant sky of hope 
Will bend above you all the way 
And make you happy, as today. 

WILBCB D.Nbsbit. 



TAKE CARE. 

Little children, you must seek 
Rather to be good than wise; 

For the thoughts you do not speak 
Shine out in your cheeks and eyes. 

If you think that you can be 
Cross or cruel and look fair. 

Let me tell you how to see 
You are quite mistaken: 

Go and stand before the glass 

And some ugly thought contrive. 

And my word will come to pass 
Just as sure as you're alive! 

What you have and what you lack. 
All the same as what you wear. 

You will see reflected back; 
So, my little folks, take care. 

And not only in the glass 

Will your secrets come to view; 

All beholders, as they pass. 

Will perceive and know them, too. 

Out of sight, my boys and girls. 

Every root of beauty starts; 
So think less about your curls. 

More about your minds and hearts. 

Cherish what is good and drive 
Evil thoughts and feelings far; 

For as sure as you're alive. 

You will show for what you are. 

ALica Cabt. 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

Go forth to the battle of life, my boy. 

Go while it is called today; 
For the years go out, and the years come in. 
Regardless of those who may lose or win. 
Of those who may work or play. 

And the troops march steadily on, my boy, 

To the army gone before; 
You may hear the sound of their falling 

feet. 
Going down to the river where the two 
worlds meet; 
They go to return no more. 

There is room for you in the ranks, my 
boy. 

And duty, too, assigned. 
Step into the front witli a cheerful grace — 
Be quick, or another may take your place, 

And you may be left behind. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



565 



There is work to do by the way, my boy, 
That you never can tread again; 

Work for the loftiest, lowliest men; 

Work for the plough, adz, spindle, and pen; 
Work for the hands and the brain. 

Then go to the battle of life, my boy. 

In the beautiful days of youth; 
Put on the helmet, breastplate, and shield. 
And the sword that the feeblest arm may 
wield 
In the cause of right and truth. 



PATIENCE. 

How smooth the sea-beach pebbles are! 

But — do you know? — 
The ocean worked a hundred years 

To make them so! 

And I once saw a little girl 

Sit down and cry 
Because she could not cure a fault 

With one small "try"! 



A CRADLE HYMN. 

Hush, my dear! lie still, and slumber; 

Holy angels guard thy bed! 
Heavenly blessings without number 

Gently falling on thy head. 

Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment. 
House and home thy friends provide; 

All without thy care or payment. 
All thy wants are well supplied. 

How much better thou'rt attended 
Than the Son of God could be, 

\\"hen from heaven he descended, 
And became a child like thee! 

Soft and easy is thy cradle; 

Coarse and hard the Savior lay, 
When his birthplace was a stable. 

And his softest bed was hay. 

See the kindred shepherds round him, 
Telling wonders from the sky! 

There they sought him, there they found 
him 
With his virgin mother by. 

See the lovely Babe a dressing! 

Lovely Infant how he smiled! 
Wlien he wept, the mother's blessing 

Soothed and hushed the holy Child. 

Lo! he slumbers in his manger, 

Wlaere the horned oxen fed: 
Peace, my darling; here's no danger; 

Here's no ox anear thy bed. 

Mayst thou live to know and fear him. 
Trust and love him all thy days. 

Then go dwell forever near him. 
See his face and sing his praise. 



I could give thee thousand kisses, 

Hoping what I most desire; 
Not a mother's fondest wishes 

Can to greater joys aspire. 

I8A.1(; \V.*TTS. 



FOR THE CHILDREN. 

Come stand by my knee, little childreu 

Too weary for laughter or song; 
The sports of the day are all over, 

And evening is creeping along. 
The snow-fields are white in the moonlight, 

The winds of the winter are chill, 
But under the sheltering roof-tree, 

The fire shineth ruddy and still. 

You sit by the fire, little children; 

Tour cheeks are ruddy and warm; 
But out in the cold of the winter 

Is many a shivering form. 
There are mothers that wander for shelter, 

And babes that are pining for bread; 
Oh, thank the dear Lord, little children, 

From whose tender hand you are fed! 

Come look in my eyes, little children. 

And tell me, through all the long day, 
Have you thought of the Father above us, 

Who guarded from evil your way? 
He heareth tlie cry of the sparrow. 

And careth for great and for small; 
In life and in death, little children. 

His love is the truest of all. 

Now go to your rest, little children, 

And over your innocent sleep. 
Unseen by your visions, the angels 

Their watch tlirough the darkness shall 
keep. 
Then pray that the Shepherd, who guidcth 

The lambs that he loveth so well, 
May lead you, in life's rosy morning. 

Beside the still waters to dwell. 



LET THE LITTLE ONES COME UNTO 
ME. 

I think when I read that sweet story of old. 
When Jesus was here among men. 

How he called little children as lambs to 
his fold, 
I should like to have been with him then. 

I wish that his hands had been placed on 
my head, 
That his arms had been thrown around 
me, 
And that I might have seen his kind looks 
when he said, 
"Let the little ones come untA me." 

Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go. 
And ask for a share in his love; 

And if I but serve him in faith while below, 
I shall see him and know him above. 

MBa. JBXIMA LDKa. 



56G 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



THE SUNBEAM. 

If I were a sunbeam. 

I know what I'd do; 
I would seek white lilies 

Rainy woodlands through; 
I would steal among them, 

Softest light I'd shed, 
Until every lily 

Raised its drooping head. 

If I were a sunbeam, 

I know where I'd go; 
Into lowliest hovels, 

Dark with want and woe; 
Till sad hearts looked upward, 

I would sliine and shine: 
Then they'd think of heaven. 

Their sweet home and mine. 

Art thou not a sunbeam. 

Child, whose life is glad 
With an inner radiance 

Sunshine never had? 
Oh, as God has blessed thee 

Scatter rays divine! 
For there is no sunbeam 

But must die or shine. 

LucJ Larcom. 



TWO OFFERINGS. 

I didn't tliink I could do it 

Wlien first he told me to; 
For I love my precious dolly. 

And she is almost new. 
But dear me! Uncle Joe knows how 

To talk until you feel 
As if you'd give your money 

And a part of every meal. 

He knows about the Jews, you see, 
And how they brought the Lord 

Tlie first and best of all their fruits. 
According to his word. 

That must have been so beautiful — 
Those harvest-offerings! 

M^ell, Uncle Joe, he talked until 
, I broufrht him all my things. 
To see which I would send away 

To China in the box; 
And he said my best doll — blue-eyed, 

Red-cheeked, with curling locks. 

. I said, "Do you give what you like 

The very bestest best'.' 
And do you 'make a sacrifice' 

As you tell all the rest?" 
And he said, "Yes. I always give 

To help along the cau.se: 
But as I have no fields or fruits. 

I can't keep Jewish laws." 

Now Uncle Joe is very good. 
. But he does love cigars. 
He smokes on the piazza till 
He almost hides the stars. 



So then I said, "If you'll give up 

Cigars and pipes and all. 
And give the money to the Lord. 

Wliy, then I'll send my doll." 

Then Uncle Joe looked sober; 

For, you see, he loved them so. 
I said, "Oh, now you see what 'tis 

To let my dolly go!" 
I thought he would not do it. 

But by and by he said, 
"I think you're right; I'll drop cigars 

And give their cost instead," 

So now my dolly's going. 

And Uncle Joe — just hear! — 
Will give most seventy dollars 

To missions every year! 
And Mama says she's very glad 

About the way I spoke. 
Since Uncle Joe has offered up 

His sacrifice of smoke! 



NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. 

Golden head so lowly bending. 
Little feet so white and bare. 

Dewy eyes, half shut, half opened. 
Lisping out her evening prayer. 

"Now I lay" — repeat it, darling — 
"Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 

Of my daughter, kneeling, bending 
O'er the folded finger-tips. 

"Down to sleep." "To sleep," she mur- 
mured. 

And the curly head bent low; 
"I pray the Lord," I gently added; 

"You can say it all, I know." 

"Pray the Lord" — the sound came faintly. 
Fainter still — "my soul to keep"; 

Then the tired liead fairly nodded. 
And the child was fast asleep. 

But the dewy eyes half opened 
When I clasped her to my breast. 

And the dear voice softly whispered, 
"Mamma, God knows all the rest." 

Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding 
Of the child-heart! \Slould that I 

Thus might trust my heavenly Father 
He who hears my feeblest cry 

Oil, the rapture, sweet, unbroken, 
Of the soul who wrote that prayer! 

C'iLildren's myriad voices, floating 
Up to heaven, record it there. 

If, of all that has been written, 
I could choose what might be mine 

It should be that child's petition. 
Rising to the throne divine. 

MkS. R. S. HoWLiMD. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



567 



SELLING THE BABY. 

Beneath a shady elm-tree 

Two little brown-haired boys 
Were complaining to each other 

That they couldn't make a noise; 
"And it's all that horrid baby," 

Cried Johnny. looking glum; 
"She makes an awful bother: 

I mos' wish she hadn't come. 

"It a boy runs through the kitchen, 

Still as any mouse can creep, 
Xorah says, 'Now do be aisy, 

For the baby's gone to sleep!' 
And when, just now, I asUed Mama 

To fix ray new straw cap. 
She said she really couldn't 

Till the baby took her nap!" 

"I've been thinking we might sell her — " 

Fred thrust back his curl.v hair; 
"Mama calls her 'Little Trouble.' 

So I don't believe she'd care. 
We will take her down to Johnson's: 

He keeps candy at his store: 
.\nd I wouldn't wonder, truly. 

If she'd bring a pound or more; 

"For he asked me if I'd sell her 

WHien she first came, but, you see. 
Then I didn't know she'd bother. 

So I told him, 'No, sir-ree!' 
He may have her now. and welcome; 

I don't want her any more. 
Get the carriage round here, Johnny, 

And I'll fetch her to the door." 

To the cool green-curtained bedroom 

Freddy stole with noiseless feet, 
Where Mama had left her baby 

Fast asleep, serene, and sweet; 
Soft he bore her to the carriage. 

All unknowing, little bird! 
While of these two young kidnappers 

Not a sound had Mama heard. 

Down the street the carriage trundled: 

Soundly still the baby slept; 
Over two sun-browned boy-faces 

Little sober shadows crept: 
They began to love the wee one. 

"Say," said Johnny, "don't you think 
He will give for such a baby 

Twenty pounds as quick as wink?" 

"I'd say fifty," Fred responded. 

With his brown eyes downward cast. 
"Here's the store; it doesn't seem's though 

We had come so awful fast!" 
Through the door they pushed the carriage; 

"Mister Johnson, we thought maybe 
Tou would — wouldn't — would you — would 
you — 

Would you like to buy a baby?" 

Merchant Johnson's e.ves were twinkling; 

"Well, 1 would: just set your price. 
Will you take your pay in candy? 

I have some that's very nice- 



But before we bind the bargain 
I would like to see the child!" 

Johnny lifted up the afghan; 

Baby woke and cooed and smiled. 

"It's a trade!" cried Merchant Johnson; 

"How much candy for the prize?" 
Fred and Johnny looked at baby 

Then into each other's eyes. 
All forgotten was the bother 

In the light of baby's smile, 
And they wondered if Mama had 

Missed her daughter all the while. 

"Candy's sweet, but baby's sweeter," 

Spoke up sturdy little Fred. 
" Cause she is our own and onliest 

Darling sister," Johnny said, 
"So 1 guess we'd better keep her. 

But if we should ask him — maybe 
■WJien he knows you'd like to have one, 

God will send you down a baby!" 

Merchant Johnson laughed, and kindly 

Ran their small hands o'er with sweet 
Ere they wheeled the baby homeward, 

Back along the quiet street; 
And Mama (who had not missed them) 

Smiled to hear the little tale, 
How they went to sell the baby. 

How they didn't make the sale. 

Ada Carleton. 



GRINDSTONE OF FATE. 

One day when I, a boy, bewailed the 

wealth to me denied, 
I recollect my fncle Hiram taking me aside 
To chide me for my petulance and whisper 

in my ear 
A bit of homespun logic and some facts 

designed to cheer. 
"My boy," he said, "in after-years you'll 

recognize that strife, 
Unceasing toil, and poverty equip one best 

for life: 
For men. like tools, don't get an edge on 

things as smooth as wax. 
It's just the grindstone's roughness, lad, 

that sharpens up the ax. 

" 'Twas Lincoln's task of splitting rails, 

his buffeting by fate, 
In early life that made him fit to steer the 

ship of state: 
A tow-path life proved Garfield's steel; a 

tan-yard's pleasure scant 
And %veary round of work brought out the 

best there was in Grant. 
If each had held within his mouth, when 

born, a silver spoon. 
And had not been so ground by fate the 

whole of life's forenoon, 
Their brains that keenness would have 

lacked to probe prosaic facts: 
It's just the grindstone's roughness, lad, 

that sharpens up the ax. 



568 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



"If things went always sniootli with you," 

my Uncle Hiram vowed, 
"You'd go through life unknown and un- 

disting-uished from the crowd, 
More apt than not; while rasping want and 

grinding work, I've found. 
Will sharpen wits that steps may cleave 

to fortune's higher ground. 
The wearing stones of fate that seem your 

progress to retard 
You'll some day bless, and thank the world 

for bearing down so hard. 
The grit that puts an edge on is just what 

success exacts; 
It's just the grindstone's roughness, lad, 

that sharpens up the ax." 



THE BOY JESUS. 

Oh, I sometimes wish the Bible had told 
More about his life in the days of old. 
When he walked a lad o'er Judea's plain. 
In the sunshine glad, in the wind and rain; 
When he roamed tlie vales, the mountains, 

and hills, 
And was happy there, mid the rocks and 

rills; 
When he -wandered free by blue Galilee — 
Wlien Jesus was young, just a boy like me. 

Oh, I sometimes wish that I had been 
there. 

In his boyhood life to have had a share; 

To have been his friend and follower 
then— 

A disciple true before v;e were men; 

^aien my boyish heart in him could con- 
fide 

As we lay care-free on the green hillside: 

Just a glance of his eye and one word, 
"Come," 

Had made me his comrade, his friend, and 
clium. 

Oh, I sometimes wish I had seen his face 
As he talked with them in the holy place. 
And the scribes all wondered who heard 

him there. 
As they looked into that countenance so 

fair; 
■uniile they marveled greatly that one so 

young 
Had learned the great truths which fell 

from his tongue. 
At the wisdom, beauty, and grace and truth 
That flowed from the lips of a simple 

youth. 

Oh, I know that Jesus was noble, strong; 
That a boy is brave who will not do wrong. 
Who will firmly refuse to look upon sin 
Or to countenance wicked ones who win. 
If a boy is manly and pure and true. 
He is as Jesus was, I think; don't you? 
And a boy without Jewish rite or vow 
Can learn to be like the Lord Jesus now. 



WHAT BECAME OF A LIE. 

First, somebody told it. 

Then the room wouldn't hold it, 

So the busy tongues rolled it 

Till they got it outside, 
When the crowd came across it, 
And never once lost it. 
But tossed it and tossed it 

Till it grew long and wide. 

From a very small lie, sir. 
It grew deep and high, sir. 
Till it reached to the sky, sir, 

And frightened the moon; 
For she hid her sweet face, sir, 
In a veil of cloud-lace, sir. 
At the dreadful disgrace, sir, 

That happened at noon. 

This lie brought forth others. 
Dark sisters and brothers. 
And fathers and mothers — 

A terrible crew; 
And while headlong they hurried. 
The people they flurried. 
And troubled and worried, 

As lies always do. 

And so, evil-bodied. 
This monster lie goaded. 
Till at last it exploded 

In smoke and in shame; 
When from mud and from mire 
The pieces flew higher. 
And hit the sad liar 

And killed his good name! 

MBS. M. A. KlUDBB. 



PRINCIPLE PUT TO THE TEST. 

A youngster at school, more sedate than 

the rest. 
Had once his integrity put to the test; 
His comrades had plotted an orchard to 

rob. 
And asked him to go and assist in the Job. 

He was very much shocked, and answered, 

"Oh, no! 
What! rob our good neighbor! I pray 

you don't go. 
Besides, the man's poor — his orchard's hla 

bread; 
Then, think of his children, for they must 

be fed." 

"You speak very fine, and you look very 

grave — ■ 
But apples we want and apples we'll have. 
If you will go with us we'll give you a 

share; 
If not you shall have neither apple nor 

pear." 

He spoke, and James pondered: "I see they 

will go. 
Poor man! What a pity to injure him so! 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



569 



Poor man: I would save him his fruit if 

I could, 
But staying behind will do him no good. 

"If this matter depended alone upon me, 
His apples might hang till they dropped 

from the tree; 
But since they will take them, I think I'll 

go too; 
He w-ill lose none oy me, though I get a 

few." 

His scruples thus silenced, James felt 

more at case. 
And went with his comrades the apples 

to seize. 
He blamed and protested, but joined in 

the plan; 
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the 

man. 

Conscience slumbered awhile, but soon 
woke in his breast. 

And in language severe the delinquent ad- 
dressed: 

"With such empty and selfish pretenses 
away ! 

By j'our actions you're judged, be your 
speech what it may." 

VTlLLIAM CoWPEE. 



CHILDREN. 

Come to me, O ye children! 

For I hear you at your play. 
And the questions that perplexed me 

Have vanished quite away. 

Te open the eastern windows, 

That look towards the sun, 
Where thoughts are singing swallows 

And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the birds and the sun- 
shine. 

In your thoughts the brooklet's flow. 
But in mine is the wind of autumn 

And the first fall of the snow. 

Ah! what would the world be to us 
If the children were no more? 

We should dread the desert behind us 
Worse than the dark before. 

What the leaves are to the forest. 

With light and air for food. 
Ere their sweet and tender juices 

Have been hardened into wood, — 

That to the world are children; 

Throiitfh them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 

Come to me, O ye children! 

And whisper in my ear 
Wliat the birds and the winds are singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 



For what are all our contrivings 
And the wisdom of our books 

■When compared with your caresses 
And the gladness of your looks? 

Te are better than all the ballads 
That ever were sung or said; 

For ye are living poems. 
And all the rest are dead. 

Henry Wadswobth Longfellow. 



A LITTLE FACE. 

A little face to look at, 

A little face to kiss; 
Is there anything, 1 wonder. 

That's half so sweet as this? 

A little cheek to dimple 

When smiles begin to grow, 

A little mouth betraying 
Which way the kisses go. 

A slender little ringlet, 

A rosy little ear, 
A little chin to quiver 

When falls the little tear. 

A little hand so fragile. 

All through the night to hold; 

Two little feet so tender, 
To tuck in from the cold. 

Two eyes that watch the sunbeam 
That with the shadows plays; 

A darling little baby 
To kiss and love always. 



HAVE COURAGE, MY BOY, TO SAY 
NO. 

Tou're starting, my boy, on life's journey 

Along tiie grand highway of life. 
You'll meet with a thousand temptations; 

Each city with evil is rife. 
This world is a stage of excitement; 

There's danger wherever you go; 
But if you are tempted in weakness, 

Have courage, my boy, to say no. 

In courage alone lies your safety. 

■\^nien you the long journey begin, 
Tour trust in a heavenly Father 

Will keep you unspotted from sin. 
Temptations will go on increasing 

As streams from a rivulet flow; 
But if you'd be true to your manhood, 

Have courage, my boy, to say no. 

Be careful in choosing companions; 

Seek only the brave and the true. 
And stand by your friends when in trials. 

Never changing the old for the new; 
And when by false friends you are tempted 

The taste of the wine-cup to know, 
■OTith firmness, with patience and kindness. 

Have courage, my boy, to say no. 



570 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



GRANDMA S SURPRISE. 

WTio is this comes knoclting — 

Knocking: at my door? 
Surely siicli a visitor 

I never had before. 
"Come to call on Grandma," 

Did I hear you say? 
I live here, my little man — 

Guess you've missed your way. 

Coming in? I wonder 

Who my guest can be? 
Navy cap and buttons 

Come to call on me! 
Now, 1 know a boy, sir — 

A little boy named Fred! 
He wears dresses, to be sure, 

And curls around his head. 

He is my darling, but of course 

Not such a man as you. 
Why, you could face the whole world 

In that brave suit of blue! 
And pockets, too Well, well! 

What would my Freddie say 
If he were here to see 

This gentleman today? 

Laughing? What's the matter? 

Tour name Freddie, too! 
Come a little closer. 

Let me look at you. 
Brown eyes, laughing gaily. 

Full of fun and joy — 
Let me put my specs on — 

Bless me! it's my boy. 



MAKE YOUR MARK. 

In the quarries should you toil. 

Make your mark; 
Do you delve upon the soil. 

Make your mark; 
In whatever path you go. 

In whatever place you stand. 
Moving swift or moving slov>', 
With a firm and honest hand 
Make your mark. 

^hould opponents hedge your way, 

JIake your mark; 
Work by night, or work by day. 

Make your mark; 
Struggle manfully and well. 

Let no obstacles oppose: 
None, right-shielded, ever fell. 
By the weapons of his foes; 
Make your mark. 

What though born a peasant's son? 

Make your mark; 
Good by poor men can be done; 

Make your mark. 
Peasants' garbs may warm the cold : 
Peasants' words may calm a fear: 
Better far than hoarding gold 
Is the drying of a tear;, 
Make your mark. 



Life is fleeting as a shade: 

Make your mark; 
Marks of some kind must be made: 

Make your mark; 
Make it while the arm is strong, 

In the golden hours of youth; 
Never, never make it wrong; 

Make it with the stamp of truth; 
Make your mark. 

David Babkeb. 



ONLY ONE MOTHER. 

Tou have only one mother, my boy, 
Whose heart you can gladden with joy, 

Or cause it to ache 

Till ready to break; 
So cherish that mother, my boy. 

Tou have only one mother who will 
Stick to you through good and through ill, 
And love you although 
The world is your foe; 
She cares for you tenderly still. 

Tou have only one mother to pray 
That in the good path you may stay, 

"W'ho for you won't spare 

Self-sacrifice rare; 
So honor that mother alway. 

Tou have only one mother to make 
A home ever sweet for your sake. 
Who toils day and night 
For you with delight; 
To help her, all pains ever take. 

Tou have only one mother to miss 
When she lias departed from this; 
So love and revere 
Tliat motlier while here — 
Some time you won't know her fond kiss. 

Tou have only one mother, just one; 
Remember that always, my son; 

None can or will do 

What she has for you 
■miat have you for her ever done? 



A GENTLEMANLY BOY. 

A gentle boy, a manly boy. 
Is the boy I love to see; 

An honest boy, an upright boy, 
Is the boy of boys for me. 

The gentle boy guards well his lips, 
Lest words that fall may grieve; 

The manly boy will never stoop 
To meanness, nor deceive. 

An honest boy clings to the right 
Through seasons foul and fair; 

An upright boy will faithful be 
When trusted anywhere. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



571- 



The gentle boy, the manly boy, 
Upright and honest too. 

Will always find a host of friends 
Among the good and true. 

He reaps reward in doing good. 

Finds joy in giving joy. 
And earns the right to bear the iMLnie> 

"A gentlemanly boy." 



GOING TO SCHOOL. 

Over the highways and byways. 

On through the dust of the street, 
Thousands of dear little children 

Travel with hurrying feet — 
Children with bright, eager faces, 

Happy and glad, as a rule, 
Talking and laughing and singing 

As they are going to school. 

Some from the homes of tlie wealthy. 

Some from tlie lowliest cot; 
Tet they all need education 

AVhatever in life be their lot. 
Be the day pleasant or stormy, 

Whether 'tis sultry or cool — 
They do not stop for the weather 

When they are going to school. 

School-days are happy days and pleasant. 

Children, be glad while you may; 
Lay by a rich store of knowledge, 

^liich will be useful some day. 
"Wisdom is better than riches," 

"A wise man is preferred to a fool"; 
God give the children true wisdom 

While they are going to school! 



FIVE LITTLE FOXES. 

Among ray tender vines I spy 
A little fox named "By and By." 

Then set upon him quick, I say. 

The swift young hunter "Right Away.' 

Around each tender vine I plant 
I find a little fo.x "I Can't." 

Then, fast as ever hunter ran. 

Chase him with bold and brave "I Can.' 

"Xo Use in Trying" — lags and whines 
This fox among my tender vines. 

Then, drive him low and drive him high 
With this good hunter, named "I'll Try.' 

Among the vines in my small lot 
Creeps in the young fox "I Forgot." 

Then hunt him out «nd to his pen 
With "I Will Not Forget Again." 



A little fox is hidden there 

Among my vines, named "1 Don't Care' 

Then, let "I'm Sorry" — hunter true- 
Chase him afar from vines and you. 



THE BOY WHO HELPS HIS MOTHER. 

As I went down the street today, 

I saw a little lad 
■UTiose face was just the kind of face 

To make a person glad. 
I saw him busily at work. 

While blithe as blackbird's song 
His merry, mellow whistle rang 

The pleasant street along. 

Just then a playmate came along 

And leaned across the gate, 
A plan that promised lots of fun 

And frolic to relate. 
"The boys are waiting for us now, 

So hurry up," he cried. 
My little whistler shook his head. 

And "Can't come," he replied. 

"Can't come? ^Tiy not, I'd like to know?" 

"\Miat hinders?" asked the other. 
"Why, don't you see?" came the reply; 

"I'm busy helping Mother. 
She's lots to do, and so I like 

To help her all I can; 
So I've no time for fun just now," 

Said this dear little man. 

"I like to hear you talk like that," 

I told the little lad; 
"Help mother all you can and make 

Her kind heart light and glad." 
It does me good to think of him 

And know that there are others 
Vil^o like this manly little boy 

Take hold and help their mothers. 



HE CARES FOR ALL. 

Our Father clothes the lilies. 
And feeds the ravens, too; 

Take courage, little Christians, 
He surely cares for you. 

The beasts that roam the wild wood. 

The fishes in the sea. 
Are clothed and fed from heaven; 

Then, Father cares for me. 

The birds tliat sing in summer 
And swing in leafy bowers. 

The bees that gather honey 
From all the fragrant flowers. 

Are noticed by our Father; 

His eyes are over all; ' 
He even cares for sparrows. 

And sees them when they fall. 



572 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Does he not love his children, 
And hear them when they pray? 

Yes. our dear Father listens 
To all we have to say. 

And while he cares for lilies. 
For fishes, birds, and bees, 

He cares more for his children — 
Far more than for all these. 

Claba M. Bbooks. 



AUTUMN. 

Fair autumn, grolden autumn 

Has hastened fast away; 
With fleeting footsteps hurried 

Eacli swiftly passing day. 

She picked the pretty flowers 
And placed them out of sight. 

And urged the little seedlets 
To ripen wliile they might. 

In gowns so bright and lovely 
She dressed up all the trees; 

She sent the birdies southward 
And hushed the humming bees. 

She cribbed the ripened corn-ears. 
The golden apples stored. 

In short, laid up in safety 
"The farmer's wintry hoard." 

Ambition was her watchword. 
And wisdom was her rule; 

She gathered in the children 
And started them to school. 

Yes, though she hurried onward 
To time's fast sinking sun, 

A single little duty 

She did not leave undone. 

Can not we learn a lesson. 

My little lad and lass? 
Let's up and do our duty. 

For life will swiftly pass. 

r.IART J.HELI'HINGSTrNB. 



fast. 



WINTER HOURS. 

The fire burns bright. 
The trees are white. 

The snow falls thick and 
The snowbirds sing. 
The sleigh-bells ring^ 

Sure! winter's come at last. 



The boys will slide. 
The girls will ride. 

And while away the hours; 
"We hear the noise 
Of Christmas toys 

In gladdened wintry bowers. 



The old year's gone, 

Its labors done. 
The new one now is here. 

It brings us work; 

We will not shirk. 
For God is ever near. 

He loveth all, 

Botli great and small. 

And casteth out all fear 
From those in whom 
His love finds room, 

For Jesus is so dear. 

His help we need. 

His grace we'll plead 
To live aright this year. 

No sin allow 

To harm thee now, 
For soon Christ will appear. 

If then we live 

And glory give 
Unto our blessed Lord, 

Eternal peace 

Shall never cease 
While we obey his Word. 

Edward N. Ltdice. 



FOREST TREES. 

Children, have you seen the budding 

Of the trees in valleys low? 
Have you watched it creeping, creeping. 

Up the mountain, soft and slow. 
Weaving there a plush-like mantle. 

Brownish, grayish, reddish, green. 
Changing, changing, daily, hourly. 

Till it smiles in emerald sheen? 

Have you watched the shades so varied. 

From the graceful little white birch. 
Faint and tender, to the balsam's 

Evergreen, so dark and rich? 
Have you seen the quaint mosaics. 

Gracing all the mountainsides, 
Wliere they, mingling, intertwining. 

Sway like softest mid-air tides? 

Have you seen the autumn frostings. 

Spread in all the leafage bright — 
Frostings of the rarest color. 

Red and yellow, dark and light? 
Have you seen the glory painted 

On the mountain, valley, hill, 
When the landscape, all illumined. 

Blazes forth his taste and skill? 

Have you seen the foliage dropping. 

Tender cling, as loth to leave 
Mother trees that taught them deftly 

All their warp and woof to weave'' 
Have you seen the leafless branches 

Tossing wildly against the blue? 
Have you seen the soft-gray beauty 

Of their wintry garments' hue? 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



578 



Have you thought the resurrection 

Seen in nature year by year 
Is a symbol of our rising 

In a higher, holier splaere? 
Children, ye are buds maturing; 

Make your autumn rich and grand. 
That your winter be a passage 

Through tlie gates to glory-land. 



HIDING. 

No little step do I hear in the hall; 
Only a sweet little laugh, that is all; 
No dimpled arms around my neck hold me 

tight; 
1'%'e but a glimpse of two eyes very bright; 
Two little hands a wee face try to screen; 
Baby is hiding, that's plain to be seen. 
"^Tiere is my precious I've missed so all 

day?" 
"Papa can't find me!" the pretty lips say. 

"Dear me, I wonder where baby can be!" 
Then I go by and pretend not to see; 
"Not in the parlor, and not on the stairs? 
Then, I must peep under sofa and chairs." 
The dear little rogue is now laughing out- 
right; 
Two little arms round my neck clasp me 

tight. 
Home will indeed be sad, weary, and lone. 
When Papa can't find you, my darling, my 
own. 



THE YEAR. 

A faded leaf, the touch of time; 

The hush of nature, calm and deep; 
The softened tint of day's decline; 

The mellow sunlight, pure and sweet, 
All sound the plaintive farewell notes. 

Of Summer's rapid exit through 
The mystic gate the season opes, 

While back she wafts her fond adieu. 

She crowns the year with gracious gifts 

Of goodness so divinely blest; 
Her burden rich he gladly lifts, 

And silently she sinks to rest. 
Even now we hear the stealthy tread 

Of Autumn's footfall on the earth. 
Whose lap, with full fruition spread. 

A thousand springs of joy pours forth. 

And thus we count the ceaseless round 

Of Time's triumphant onward fiisht: 
Each cycle's finished course is found 

The entrance of another's light — 
The Springtide's blooming smile she sends. 

With Summer's blessings full of cheer. 
While Autumn's ripened glory blends 

The coming with the passing year. 

But soon will Winter's stern decree 

Call Nature to his court of death. 
There strip her of her robe so free 



And shroud her with his icy breath, 
Then lay her In his cold, hard tomb 

Till touched with resurrection power, 
When forth she'll spring, in beauty bloom, 

And fill with hope day's gloom-clad hour. 

Dear children — buds of life's fair spring — 

Unfold your petals to the sun; 
Let not one naughty weed of sin 

Be seen these lovely flowers among. 
Life's summer hours, with graver song, 

Will change the joyous bloom you bear 
To autumn's richer fruits erelong; 

Death's winter mantle you must wear. 
Anna K. Tbomab. 



THY MOTHER. 

Lead thy mother tenderly 

Down life's steep decline; 
Once her arm was thy support, 

Now she leans on thine. 
See upon her loving face 

Those deep lines of care; 
Think it was her toil for thee 

Left that record there. 

Ne'er forget her tireless watch 

Kept by day and night. 
Taking from her step the grace. 

From her eyes the light; 
Cherish well her faithful heart 

Which through weary years 
Echoed with its sympathy 

All thy smiles and tears. 

Thank God for thy mother's love; 

Guard the priceless boon, 
For the bitter parting hour 

Cometh all too soon. 
When thy graceful tenderness 

Loses power to save. 
Earth will hold no dearer spot 

Than thy mother's grave. 

Kits Hooan. 



HAVE FAITH IN THE BOY. 

Have faith in the boy — not believing 

That he is the worst of his kind, 
In league with the army of Satan, 

And only to evil inclined; 
But dally to guide and control him 

Your patience and wisdom employ, 
And daily, despite disappointment 

And sorrow, have faith in the boy. 

Have faith to believe that some moment 

In life's strangely checkered career, 
Convicted, subdued, and repentant. 

The prodigal son will appear; 
The gold In his nature, rejecting 

The dark and debasing alloy. 
Illuming your spirit with gladness 

Because you have faith in the boy. 



■574 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Though now he is wayward and stubborn. 

And. keeps himself sadly aloof 
From those who are anxious and fearful, 

And ready with words of reproof, 
Have faith that the words of a mother 

His wandering feet will arrest, 
Ahd turn him away from his follies 

To weep out his tears on her breast. 

Ah! many a boy has been driven 

Away from the home by the thought 
That no one believed in his goodness 

Or dreamed of the battle he fought. 
So' if you would help him to conquer 

The foes that are prone to annoy, 
Encourage him often with kindness, 

And show you have faith in the boy. 



KISSED HIS MOTHER. 

She sat on the porch in the sunshine 

As I went down the street — 
A woman whose hair was silver. 

But whose face was blossom-sweet. 
Making me think of a garden 

Where in spite of frost and snow 
Of bleak November weather. 

Late fragrant lilies grow. 

I heard a footstep behind me. 

And a sound of a merry laugh. 
And I knew the heart it came from 

Would be like a comforting staff 
In the time and the hour of trouble, 

Hopeful and brave and strong — 
One of the hearts to lean on 

Wlien we think that things go wrong. 

I turned at the click of the gate-latch, 

And met his manly look; 
A face like his gives me pleasure. 

Like the page of a pleasant book. 
It told of a steadfast purpose. 

Of a brave and daring will — 
A face with a promise in it 

That God grant the years fulfil. 

He went up the pathway singing; 

I saw the woman's eyes 
Grow bright with a wordless welcome. 

As sunshine warms the skies. 
"Back again, sweetheart Mother!" 

He cried, and bent to kiss 
The loving face that was lifted 

For what some mothers miss. 

That boy will do to depend on; 

I hold that this is true; 
Prom lads in love with their mothers 

Our bravest heroes grew. 
Earth's grandest hearts have been loving 
hearts 

Since time and earth began. 
And the boy who kissed his mother 

Is every inch a man. 

EbBN E.RnxFOilD. 



ho! bonny boy. 

Ho! bonny boy, with cheeks of brown. 

In the river wading, 
What the dreams within your head. 

Slowly, slowly fading? 
Vacation's nearly gone, you say. 

With school-time growing nearer. 
And every moment of the day 

Is growing sweetly dearer. 

Slowly summer steals away. 

Vacation Joys are fading, 
While every moment is so dear. 

In the river wading. 
Turtle sleeping on a log. 

Sand-peep where the beach is; 
Cherries growing in tlie sun, 

Where tlie catbird screeches. 

But the river, bonny boy. 

Is not always sleeping; 
There is work for it and you. 

There is joy and weeping. 
Time in summer for your fun. 

Time to work in winter. 
For tlie race is always won 

By the fleetest sprinter. 

Ho! curly-head, this lesson learn; 

The world is only seeming 
To the boy who idly stands 

And wastes the day in dreaming. 
There's a work for you somewhere. 

And a way to follow; 
There's a joy for every care. 

A hill for every hollow. 

Walter M. HAZSLTitca. 



childhood. 

From the sunny clime of childhood, in the 

far-ofE days of old. 
Floats a strain of heavenly sweetness: 

"Come within my peaceful fold." 
'Tis the Sheplierd calls his lambkins from 

the path of sin away. 
This the message; hear it gladly, little 

children of today. 
Here find rest and quiet shelter from the 

pangs of fear and doubt; 
Here the wolf of angry passion enters not. 

but stands without. 
Food and raiment for the asking; each 

may find a full supply. 
"In my arms a loving welcome; do not, 

dare not pass me by." 

Little children, will you listen to this 

Shepherd's gentle voice? 
Will you follow and obey him? He will 

make your hearts rejoice; 
In the paths of peace he'll lead you, nobly 

guard you from all harm. 
Rock you fondly in love's cradle with his 

own eternal arms. 
Now before the flush of morning passes 

from your dimpled cheek 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



575 



Let your sparkling eyes proclaim it — "Je- 
sus early will we seek" — 

Ere the touch of vice brings sorrow and be- 
fouls your pure young breath, 

Or the blight of sin forever wraps your 
souls in gloom and death. 

Anna K. Tboius. 



A GENTLEMAN. 

I knew him for a gentleman 

By signs that never fail. 
His coat was rough and rather worn. 

His cheeks were thin and pale — 
A lad who had his way to make. 

With little time to play. 
I knew him for a gentleman 

By certain signs today. 

He met his mother on the street; 

Oit came his little cap. 
My door was shut; he waited there 

Until I heard his rap. 
He took the bundle from my hand, 

And when I dropped my pen. 
He sprang to pick it up for me. 

This gentleman of ten. 

He does not push or crowd along; 

His voice is gently pitched; 
He does not fling his books about 

As If he were bewitched: 
He stands aside to let you pass; 

He always shuts the door; 
He runs on errands willingly. 

To forge and mill and store. 

He thinks of you before himself; 

He serves you if he can; 
For in whatever company, 

The manners make the man. 
At ten or forty 'tis the same; 

The manner tells the tale; 
And I discern the gentleman 

By signs that never fail. 



MY NEIGHBORS BOY. 

He seems to be several boys in one. 

So much is he constantly everywhere! 
And the mischievous things that boy has 
done. 
No mind can remember nor mouth de- 
clare. 
He fills the whole of his share of space 
With his strong, straight form and his 
merry face. 

He is very cowardly, very brave; 

He is kind and cruel, is good and bad, 
A brute and a hero. Who will save 

The best from the worst of my neigh- 
bor's lad? 
The mean and the noble strive today; 
Which of the powers shall have its way? 



The world is needing his strength and 

skill; 
He will make hearts happy or make them 

ache. 
^\^lat power is in him for good or ill! 
Which of life's paths will his swift feet 

take? 
Will he rise and draw others up to him, 
Or the light that is in him burn low and 

dim? 

But what is my neighbor's boy to me 
More than a nuisance? My neighbor's 
boy. 
Though I have some fears for what he may 
be, 
Is a source of solicitude, hope, and joy. 
And a constant pleasure, because I pray 
That the best that is in him will rule some 
day. 

He passes by with a smile and a nod; 
He knows I have hope of him; guessea, 
too. 
That I whisper his name when I ask of 
God 
That men may be righteous, his will to 
do; 
And I think that many would have more 

joy 
If they loved and prayed for a. neighbor's 
boy! 

Mariannh Fabinotox. 



THE MOTHER S GOOD-BY. 

Sit down by the side of your mother, my 
boy; 
You have only a moment I know. 
But you'll stay till I give you a parting 
advice; 
It is all that I have to bestow. 

You leave us to seek for employment, my 
boy; 
By the world you have yet to be tried; 
But in all the temptations and struggles 
you meet. 
May your heart in the Savior confide. 

You'll find in this bundle a Bible, my boy; 

'Tis the book of all others the t)est; 
It will teach you to live and prepare you 

to die. 
And will lead to the gates of the blest. 

I gave you to God In your cradle, my boy; 

I have taught you the best that I knew; 
And as long as his mercy permits me 
to live, 

I shall never cease praying for you. 

Your father is coming to bid you good-by. 

Oh, how lonely and sad we shall be! 
But when far from the scenes of your 
childhood and youth, 

You will think of your father and me. 



576 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



I want you to feel every word I have said, 
For it comes from the depths of my 
love; 
And, my boy, if we never behold you on 
earth. 
Will you promise to meet us above? 



THE HOUSEHOLD FAIRY. 



Have you heard of the 

sweet 
Who keeps the home so 
Who enters the rooms of 
And finds lost marbles 

curls; 
Who mends the rent in 
Or darns the hole in a 
If you don't believe it i; 
Tou may search and find 
In your home. 



household fairy 

bright and neat; 
boys and girls, 
or smooths out 

a girlie's frock 
tomboy's sock? 
5 true, I say 
her this very day 



Tou must not look for a maiden fair. 
With starry eyes and golden hair; 
Her hair may be threaded with silver gray. 
But one glance of her eyes drives care 

away, 
And the touch of her liand is so soft and 

light 
When it smooths out a place for your head 

at night. 
If you know of some one just like this, 
My household fairy you can not miss — • 
It's "Mother." 



THE BOOTS OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

They came in beauty, side by side; 

They filled our home with noise; 
And now they're trotting far and wide, 

On feet of girls and boys. 

The selfsame shoemaker did bend 

O'er every heel and toe; 
He shaped their upper leathers fair: 

Wliere are those leathers now? 

One pair is kicking: against the bench, 
The patient bench, at school. 

And one is wading through the mud 
And splashing in the pool. 

"The sea, the blue, lone sea," hath one. 

He left it on the beach — 
A merry wave came dancing up 

And bore it out of reach. 

One sleeps where depths of slimy bog 
Are glossed with grasses o'er. 

One hasty plunge — it loosed its hold 
And sank to rise no more. 

One pair — aha! I see them now. 
And know them past all doubt, 

For through each leather gaping wide 
A rosy toe peeps out. 



And parted thus, old, dusty, torn. 
They travel far and wide. 

Who in the shop, in shining rows. 
Sat lately side by side. 

And thus they frolic, frolic there. 

And thus they caper here; 
But great and small, and torn and all. 

To mother's heart are dear. 
N. B. — Also to father's purse. 

LACRA E. BICHABD3. 



THE BOOK OF THE NEW YEAR. 

The book of the new year is opened; 

Its pages are spotless and new; 
And so, as each leaflet is turning. 

Dear children, beware what you do! 

Let never a bad thought be cherished; 

Keep the tongue from a whisper of guile 
And see that your faces are windows, 

Through which a sweet spirit shall smile- 

And weave for your souls the fair garments 
Of honor and beauty and truth, 

%\niich will still with a glory enfold you 
When faded the spell of your youth. 

And now with the new book endeavor 
To write its white pages with care; 

Each day is a leaflet, remember. 
That is written, then turned — beware! 

And if on a page you discover 
At evening a blot or a scrawl. 

Kneel quickly and ask the dear Savior 
In mercy to cover it all. 

So when the strange book shall be finished, 
And clasped by the angel so tight. 

You may feel, though the work be imper- 
fect 
You have earnestly tried for the right. 

And think how the years are the stairway 
On which you must climb to the skies; 

And strive that your standing be higher 
As each one away from you flies. 

Emilt j. Buobiis. 



A BOYS PROMISE. 

The school was out, and down the street 
A noisy crowd came thronging. 

The hue of health and gladness sweet 
To every face belonging. 

Among them strode a little lad, 

Who listened to another. 
And mildly said, half grave, half sad, 

"I can't — I promised Mother." 

A shout went up, a ringing shout 

Of boisterous derision; 
But not one moment left in doubt 

That manly, brave decision. 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 



577 



"Go where you please, do what you will," 

He calmly told the other; 
"But I shall keep my word, boys, still; 

I can't — I promised Mother." 

Ah! who could doubt the future course 
Of one who thus had spoken? 

Through manhood's struggle, gain and loss, 
Could faith like this be broken? 

God's blessing on that steadfast will, 

Unyielding to another. 
That bars all jeers and laughter still. 

Because he promised Mother! 



A GOOD THING TO DO. 

Hold it back, tie it down, 
Bind it fast and tight. 

Set your lips together close — 
Which will win the fight? 

Let it go wild and free. 

Running reckless riot? 
Surely that will quickly be 

An end of peace and quiet. 

Strongest men of all you know 

Find it hard to do. 
If you try your very best, 

Victory for you. 

Try it hard. Bring to it 

Firm determination, 
if you rule it well and good. 

You can rule a nation. 

To all the heroes who have been 
Tried and told and sung. 

Let us add the sturdy boy 
Who can hold his tongue. 

Sydney Datrb. 



WORDS THAT PAIN. 

Ah, child, with your lightsome spirit 

And happy beaming face 
And your glad young life surrounded 

With tender love and grace. 
There are tears in the eyes of your mother, 

I saw them dropping slow: 
You can never unsay the words you said 

One little hour ago. 

Life is so blessed for you, darling; 

The path stretches wide and fair; 
But need you forget the dear home-love 

And mother's patient care? 
Oh, the careless word, the impatient tone! 

Their mission is cruel as a blow; 
Yet you can't unsay the words you said 

One little hour ago. 

Some day, when the finger of silence 
On those grieving lips is laid, 

And you hear neither welcome nor greeting 
Though your heart is sore dismayed, 



You will think of the wounds you gave her, 
WHiile in vain your sad tears flow. 

For you can not unsay the words you said 
One little hour ago. 

C. E. FISHEB. 



A CHILD S VICTORY. 

The path of God 

That .Jesus trod 
Is Just the path for mo. 

To walk each day 

The narrow way. 
Where all is victory. 

We then will fight 

For truth and right. 
And Satan we'll defeat; 

God giveth grace 

In every place. 
And victory complete. 

Our life we give. 
And e'er we'll live 

For Christ and tell his love 
To fallen man 
Whene'er we can, — 

At last be crowned above. 

W. A. BlSLBB. 



WISHING AND WORKING. 

I wish for such a lot of things 

I know 1 can't possess; 
It sometimes seems my thoughts have 
wings 

Toward naught but idleness. 
I guess I'd better harness them 

And make them do some w-ork. 
For that's the only way to stem 

My tendency to shirk. 
I wished to be a man, but now 

I'll work to be a man; 
It may be hard, but anyhow 

I'll do the best I can. 
I'll help whenever Mother asks; 

I'll heed what she may say; 
I'll find my little homely tasks 

And do them now, today. 

I wished for wisdom; now I'll take 

My books from off the shelf 
And study very hard, and make 

A wise man of myself. 
I wished for this, I wished for that, 

I dreamed of wealth and fame. 
And never knew what I was at 

Was very poor and tame. 
I tell you, boys, a wish or sigh 

Will never bring you far; 
But if you work, and if you try. 

You show what man you are; 
Then all that hinders seems to aid 

In such a wondrous wise. 
You quite forget to feel afraid 

Through all your glad surprise! 

WILUS Wassen Kknt. 



578 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Where's mother? 

Bursting in from school or play, 
This is what the children say; 
Trooping, crowding, big and small, 
On the threshold in the hall, 
Joining in the constant cry. 
Ever as the days go by: 
"Where's Mother?" 

From the weary bed of pain 
This same question comes again; 
From the boy with sparkling eyes, 
Bearing home his earliest prize: 
From the bronzed and bearded son. 
Perils past and honors won: 
"Where's Mother?" 

Burdened with lonely task. 
One day we may vainly ask 
For the comfort of her face. 
For the rest of her embrace; 
Let us love her while we may; 
Well for us that we can say: 
"Where's Mother?" 

Mother, with untiring hands, 
At the post of duty stands; 
Patient, seeking not lier own. 
Anxious for the good alone 
Of the children as tliey cry, 
Ever as the days go by: 

"Where's Mother?" 



ONE LITTLE BOY. 

I wonder where that boy can b« 

They knew so long ago — 
The boy that looked so much like me? 

I wonder if 'twas so? 

The one who ofttimes used to cry 

For things he couldn't get: 
I wonder if that little boy 

Ever cries for such things yet? 

Ofttimes while dreaming in my chair. 

His face comes back again: 
I hear him laugh with smile so fair. 

Just as he used to then. 

I see his eyes — were brown, you know — 

His hair was Just the same. 
It's really been so long ago 

That I forget his name. 

I see him as he used to crawl 

Round in the dirt all day. 
Little boy didn't care at all — 

Life was only for play. 

Oh, vanished years! Oh, boy of yore. 
And things that could not be! 

That little boy isn't there any more, 
For that little boy was me! 



POETICAL CURIOSITIES 



POETICAL CURIOSITIES. 



581 



POETICAL CURIOSITIES. 



A PASTORAL. 

(In the following poem, the rhymes occur as 
follows : the end of the second line with the enil 
of the fourth line, in each stanza ; the end of the 
first line with the middle of the second, and the 
end of the third line with the middle of the fourth. 
in each stanza : the middle of the first line in the 
first stanza, with the middle of the first line in 
the second stanza, and the middle of the third line 
of the first stanza with the middle of the third 
line of the second stanza, and so on.] 

I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden; 
Her crook was laden with wreathed 
flowers; 
I sat and wooed her, througli sunlight 
wheeling 
And shadows stealing, for hours and 
hours. 

And she, my Doris, who.se lap encloses 

Wild summer roses of faint perfume. 
The while I sued her, kept hushed and 
harkened. 
Till shades had darkened from gloss to 
gloom. 

She touched my shoulder with fearful fin- 
ger; 
She said: "We linger; we must not stay; 
My flock's in danger, my sheep will wan- 
der; 
Behold them yonder — how far they 
stray." 

I answered, bolder: "Xay, let me hear you. 
And still be near you, and still adore; 

No wolf nor stranger will touch one year- 
ling; 
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more" 

She whispered, sighing: "There will be 
sorrow 

Beyond tomorrow if I lose today; 
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded, 

I shall be scolded and sent away." 

Said I replying: "If they do miss you. 
They ought to kiss you, when you get 
home; 
And well rewarded, by friend and neighbor. 
Should be the labor from which you 
come." 

"They might remember," she answered 
meekly. 
"That lambs are weakly and sheep are 
wild; 
But if they love me, it's none so fervent; 
I am a servant, and not a child." 

Then each hot ember glowed quick within 
me. 
And love did win me to swift reply: 
"Ah! do but prove me, and none shall blind 
you. 
Nor fray nor find you, until I die." 



She blushed and started, and stood await- 
ing. 

As if debating, in dreams divine; 
But I did brave them, 1 told her plainly, 

"She doubted vainly, she must be mine." 

So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley 

Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; 
And homeward drave them, we two to- 
gether. 
Through blooming heather and gleaming 
dews. 

That simple duty such grace did lend her. 
My Doris tender, my Doris true. 

That I, her warder, did always bless her. 
And often press her to take her due. 

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling 
With love excelling and undefiled; 

And love doth guard her, both fast and 
fervent. 
No more a servant, nor yet a child. 

A. J. MUNBT. 



A VALENTINE. 

[XoTE. — Read the first letter of the first line In 
connection with the second letter of the second line, 
the third letter of the third line, and so on to t)io 
end.] 

For her tliis line is penned whose luminous 
eyes, 
Brightly expressiv as the twins of Loeda, 
Shall find her own sweet name, that nes- 
tling, lies 
Upon the page, enwrapped from every 
reader. 
.Search narrowly the lines! they hold a 
treasure 
Divine, a talisman, an amulet 
That must be worn at heart. Search well 
the measure. 
The words, tlie syllables! Do not forget 
The trivialest point, or you may lose your 
labor! 
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot, 
Wliich one might not undo without a saber. 
If one could merely comprehend the plot. 
Enwritten upon tlie leaf where now are 
peering 
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdii. 
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the 
hearing 
Of poets by poets — as the name is a 
poet's too. 
Its letters although naturally lying 

Like the knight Pinto-Mendez Ferdinando 
Still form a synonym for Truth. Cease try- 
ing! 
Tou will not read the riddle though you 
do the best you can do. 

Edoab Allbn Pob. 



582 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



ON THE MARRIAGE OF A MR. HOPE. 

It appeared that Mr. Hope, 
Entertained the pleasing hope 
That some hopeless one among the fair 
Was seeking hope from life's despair, 
And was pleased with Hope to share. 
The cheerful name of Hope to wear. 
And so good Hope went smiling round 
Till the object of his hope was found; 
Then sitting by the fair ones side. 
Hope beamed with prospects of a bride 
The question asked, the prompt decision 
Turned hopeful's hope to full fruition; 
And so it liappened very soon, 
The "beau of hope" became a groom. 
Then hopeless changed to Hope by name, 
And two hopes but one Hope became. 
Their bark now launched on the stream of 

hope. 
May all the blessings hope bespoke 
Their voyage crown along the way 
Of hope's unclouded blissful day. 
And may their happy little bark afford 
A lively crew of sunny Hopes aboard; 
And when to anchor in the liarbor driven 
May all their hopes be realized in heaven. 
Daniel .S. Warner. 



BOOKS OF THE BIBLE. 

In Genesis the world was made; 

In Exodus the march is told; 
Ziovitlcus contains the law; 

In Numbers are the tribes enrolled; 
In Deuteronomy again 

^Wre urged to keep God's law alone; 
And these five works of Moses make 

The oldest writings that are known. 

Brave Joshua to Canaan leads; 

In Juderes oft the Jews rebel; 
We read of David's name in Ruth 

And Plrst and Second Samuel; 
In First and Second King's we read 

How bad the Hebrew state became; 
In Plrst and Second Chronicles 

Another liistory of the same; 
In Ezra captive Jews return. 

And Nehemiah builds the wall; 
Queen Estlier saves her race from death 

These books "historical" we call. 

In Job we read of patient faith; 

The Psalms are David's songs of prais' 
The Proverbs are to make us wise; 

Ecclesiastes next portrays 
How fleeting earthly pleasures arc; 

The Sontr of Solomon is all 
About the love of Christ: and these 

Five books "devotional" we call. 

Isalab tells of Christ to come, 

WTiile Jeremiah tells of woe. 
And in his Iiamentations mourns 

The Holy City's overthrow; 
Ezekiel speaks of mysteries 

And Daniel foretells kings of old; 
Hosea calls men to repent; 

In Joel blessings are foretold; 



Amos tells of wrath, and Edon; 

Obadiah's sent to warn; 
MHiile Jonah shows that Christ should die, 

And BCicah where he should be born. 
In Nahum, Nineveh is seen; 

In Habakkuk, Chaldea's guilt; 
In Eephaniah, Judah's sins; 

In Bag-g-ai, the temple built; 
Kechariah speaks of Christ, 

And Ualacbi, of John his sign: 
The "prophets" number seventeen. 

And all the books are thirty-nine. 

Matthew, Mark, and I^uke, and John, 

Tell what Christ did in every place; 
Acts shows what the apostles did. 

And Romans how we're saved by grace; 
Corinthians instructs the church; 

Oalatians shows of faith alone; 
Ephesians, true love; and in 

Fhilippiaus God's grace is shown: 
Colossians tells us more of Christ, 

And Thessalonians of the end; 
In Timothy and Titns both 

Are rules for pastors to attend; 
Philemon Christian friendship shows; 

Then Hebrews clearly tells how all 
The Jewhsli law prefigured Christ; 

And these Epistles are by Paul. 

James shows that faith by works must live, 

And Peter urges steadfastness. 
While John exhorts to Christian love. 

For those who have it God will bless; 
Jude shows the end of evil men. 

And Revelation tells of heaven: 
This ends tlie whole New Testament, 

And all the books are twenty-seven. 



A QUAINT OLD CROSS. 

Blest they who seek 

■UHiile in their youth. 

With spirit meek, 

The way of truth: 

To them the sacred Scriptures now display 

Christ is the only true and living way; 

His precious blood on Calvary was given 

To make them heirs of bliss in heaven; 

And on earth the child of God can trace 

The blessings of his Savior's grace. 

For them he bore 

His Father's frown; 

For them he wore 

The thorny crown; 

Nailed to the cross, 

H n d u r e d its pain. 

That his life's lose 

Might be their gain. 

Then, haste to choose 

That better part; 

Nor even refuse 

The Lord thy heart. 

Lest he declare, 

"I know you not," 

And deep despair 

Should be your lot. 

Now look to Jesus, who on Calvary die*. 

And trust in him who there was crucifiei. 



POETICAL CURIOSITIES. 



583 



EASTER WINGS. 

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, 
Though foolishly he lost the same, 
Decaying more and more. 
Till he became 
Most poor: 
Witli thee. 
Oh, let me rise, 
A3 larks harmoniously. 
And sing this day thy victories! 
Then shall the fall further the flight in me. 

My tender age in sorrow d i d beginn',-. 
And still with sickness and shame 
Thou didst so punish sinne 
That I became 
Most thinne. 
\^ith thee 
Let me combine. 
And feel this day thy victorie; 
For if I imp my wing on thine. 
Affliction shall advance the flight in me 
GEORGB Herbert. 



LIFE. 

[Note. — Accompanying this is a statement that 
a year was occupied in searching for and fitting 
the Hnes in this remarliable mosaic from English 
and American poets.] 

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? 

— Youn;;. 

Life's a short summer — man is but a flower. 

— Dr. Johnson. 
By turns we catch the fatal breath and 

die; — Pope. 

The cradle and the tomb, alas! how nigh. 

— Prior. 
To be is better far than not to be, 

— Seicell. 
Though all man's life may seem a tragedy; 

— Spencer. 
But light cares speak when mighty griefs 

are dumb; — Daniel. 

The bottom is but shallow whence they 

come. — .Sir Walter Raleigli. 

Thy fate is the common fate of all; 

— Lontjfellow. 
Unraingled joys here no man befall; 

--HoutTticelX. 
Nature to each allots his proper sphere; 

— Congreve. 
Fortune makes folly her peculiar care; 

—Churchill. 
Custom does not reason overrule, 

— Rochester. 
And throw a cruel sunshine on a fool. 

— .Armstrong. 
Live well; how long or short permit to 

heaven. — miton. 

They who forgive most shall be most for 

given. — Bailey. 

Sin may be clasped so close we can not 

see its face — — French. 

Vile intercourse where virtue has no place: 

— Somerville. 



Then, keep each passion down, however 

dear, — Thompson. 

Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. 

— Byrun. 
Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure 

lay, — Smollett. 

With craft and skill to ruin and betray; 

— Crable. 
Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise; 

— Massinger. 
We masters grow of all that we despise. 

— Croiclti/. 
Oh, then, renounce that impious self-es- 
teem! — Bealtic. 
Riches have wings and grandeur is a dream. 

— Cowpcr. 
Think not ambition wise because 'tis brave; 

— Sir Wm. Davenant. 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

— Oraj. 
■Uliat is ambition? 'Tis a glorious cheat, 

— Willii. 
Only destructive to the brave and great. 

— 'Addiion. 
What's all the gaudy glitter of a crown? 

— Dnjdtn. 
The way to bliss lies not on beds of down 

— Frances Qitarles. 
How long we live, not years, but actions 

tell; — Watkins. 

That man lives twice who lives the first 

life well. — Herrick. 

Make, then, while ye may, your God your 

friend, — William Mason. 

WTiom Christians worship, yet not com- 
prehend. Hill. 
The trust that's given guard, and to your 

self be just; — Dana. 

For live we how we may, yet die we must. 

— Shakespeare. 
Mrs. H. a. Demixg. 



SIGNS OF RAIN. 

[NoTB. — Forty reasons for not accepting an in- 
vitation of a friend to make an excursion with him.] 

1 The hollow winds begin to blow, 

2 The clouds look black, the grass is low, 

3 The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 

4 And spiders from their cobwebs peep. 

5 Last night the sun went pale to bed, 

6 The moon in halos hid her head; 

7 The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 

8 For see, a rainbow spans the sky! 

9 The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 

10 Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. 

11 Hark how the chairs and tables crack! 

12 Old Betty's nerves are on the rack: 

13 Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry, 

14 The distant hills are seeming nigh. 

15 How restless are the snorting swine! 

16 The busy flies disturb the kine: 

17 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings; 

18 The cricket, too — how sharp he sings! 

19 Puss on the hearth, with velvet pawe, 

20 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws: 

21 Through the clear streams the fishes rise 

22 And nimbly catch the incautious flies; 

23 The glowworms, numerous and light. 



584 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



24 Illumed the dewy dell last night; 

25 At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 

26 Hopping and crawling o'er the green; 

27 The whirling dust the wind obeys, 

28 And in the rapid eddy plays; 

29 The frog has changed his yellow vest, 

30 And in a russet coat is dressed; 

31 Though June, the air is cold and still: 

32 The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill; 

33 My dog, so altered in his taste, 

34 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast; 

35 And see yon rooks — how odd their flight! 

36 They imitate the gliding kite, 

37 And seem precipitate to fall, 

38 As if they felt the piercing ball. 

39 'Twill surely rain; I see with sorrow, 

40 Our jaunt must be put oft tomorrow. 

Edward Jenneh. 



THE ALTAR. 

A broken altar, Lord, thy servant reares. 
Made of a heart and cemented with teares; 
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; 
No workman's tool hath touched the same. 

A heart alone 

Is such a stone 

As nothing but 

Thy pow'r doth cut. 

\^nierefore each part 

Of my hard heart 

Meets in this frame, 

To praise thy name: 
That if I chance to hold my peace, 
These stones to praise thee may not cease. 
Oh, let t h y blessed sacrifice be mine. 
And sanctified this altar to be thine! 
George Herbeht. 



AN EXAMPLE OF ALLITEI^TION. 

An Austrian army, awfully arrayed. 

Boldly by battery besieged Belgrade. 

Cossack commanders cannonading come. 

Dealing destruction's devastating doom. 

Every endeavor engineers essay. 

For fame, for fortune fighting- — ^ furious 
fray! 

Generals 'gainst generals grapple — gra- 
cious God! 

How honors Heaven heroic hardihood! 

Infuriate, indiscriminate in ill. 

Kindred kill kinsmen, kinsmen kindred kill. 

Labor low levels loftiest, longest lines; 

Men march mid mounds, mid moles, mid 
murderous mines; 

Now noisy noxious numbers notice nought 

Of outward obstacles opposing ought; 

Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly 
pressed, 

Quite quaking, quickly "Quarter! Quarter!" 
quest. 

Reason returns, religious rite redounds, 

Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds. 

Truce to the Turk! Triumph to thy train. 

Unjust, unwise, unmerciful Ukraine! 

Vanish, vain victory! vanish, victory vain! 



Why wish we warfare? wherefore welcome 

war? 
Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xavier? 
Yield, yield, ye youths! ye yoeman, yield 

your yell! 
Zeno's, Zarpater's, Zoroaster's zeal. 
And all, attracting, against arms appeal. 



CURIOUS LITERARY COMPOSITION. 



[This is one of the most curious litorar.v compo- 
sitions known. Tlie initial letters spell "My 
boast is in the glorious cross of Clu-ist," and the 
words in bold face, when read on the left-hand 
Bide from top to bottom, and on the riglit-hand 
side from bottom to top, form the Lord's Prayer 
oomt)lete. 1 



Make known the gospel truth, our Father, 
King; 
■yield up thy grace, dear Father from 
above; 
Bless us with hearts which feelingly can 

sing, 
"Our life thou art forever, God of love." 
Assuage our grief in love for Christ, we 
pray, 
Since the Prince of heaven and glory died. 
Took all sins and hallowed the display — - 
Infinite heing, first man, and then was 
crucified. 
Stupendous God! thy grace and power make 
known; 
In Jesus' name let all the world rejoice, 
Now labor in thy heavenly king'dom own. 
That blessed kingdom, for thy saints the 
choice. 
How vile to come to thee is all our cry! 
Enemies to thyself and all that's thine: 
Graceless our will, we live for vanity; 

loathing the very being, evil in design. 
O God, thy will be done from earth to 
heaven; 
Reclining on the gospel let us live. 
In earth froni sin delivered and forgiven. 
Oh! as tliyself, hut teach us to forgive; 
Unless its power temptation doth destroy, 
Sure is our fall into the depths of woe. 
Carnal in mind, we have not a glimpse of 
joy 
Raised against Heaven; in us no hope we 
know. 
Oh! give us grace, and lead us on the way; 
Shine on us with thy love, and give us 
peace. 
Self, and this sin that raises a^rainst us, 
slay; 
Oil ! grant each day our trespasses may 
cease; 
Porgive our evil deeds, that oft we do; 

Convince us daily of them, to our shame; 
Help us with heavenly bread; forgive us, 
too. 
Recurrent lusts; and we'll adore thy 
name. 
In thy forgiveness we as saints can die. 

Since for us and our trespasses so high 
Thy Son, our Savior, died on Calvary. 



POETICAL CURIOSITIES. 



585 



AN ACROSTIC. 

Friendship, thou'rt false! I hate thy flat- 
tering smile! 

Return to me those years I spent in vain. 

In early youth the victim of thy guile, 

Each joy took wing ne'er to return again — 

Ne'er to return; for, chilled by hopes de- 
ceived, 

Dully the slow-paced hours now move 
along; 

So changed the times when thoughtless I 
believed 

Her honeyed words, and heard her siren 
song. 

If o'er, as me, she lures some youth to 
stray, 

Perhaps, before too late, he'll listen to my 
lay. 



THE CATARACT OF LODORE. 

"How does the water 
Come down at Lodore?" 
My little boy asked me 
Thus, once on a time; 
And moreover he tasked me 
To tell him in rhyme. 
Anon at the word, 
There first came one daughter, 
And then came another. 
To second and third 
The request of their brother. 
And to hear how the water 
Comes down at Lodore, 
With its rush and its roar. 

As many a time 
They had seen it before. 
So I told them in rhyme, 
For of rhymes I had store; 
And 'twas in my vocation 
For their recreation 
That so I should sing; 
Because I was laureate 
To tliem and the king. 

From its sources which well 
In the tarn on the fell; 
From its fountains 
In the mountains. 
Its rills and its gills; 
Through moss and through brake, 
It runs and it creeps 
For a while, till it sleeps 
In its own little lake; 
And thence at departing. 
Awakening and starting. 
It runs through the reeds, 

And away it proceeds. 
Through meadow and glade, 

In sun and in shade, > 

And through the wood-shelter. 
Among crags in its flurry. 
Helter-skelter, 
Hurry-skurry. 
Here it comes sparkling. 
And there it lies darkling. 
Now smoking and frothing 



Its tumult and wrath in. 
Till, in this rapid race 
On which it is bent. 
It reaches the place 
Of its steep descent. 

The cataract strong 
Then plunges along. 
Striking and raging 
As if a war waging 
Its caverns and rocks among; 
Rising and leaping. 
Sinking and creeping. 
Swelling and sweeping. 
Showering and springing. 
Flying and flinging, 
WYithing and ringing. 
Eddying and whisking. 
Spouting and frisking. 
Turning and twisting. 
Around and around 
■With endless rebound: 
Smiting and fighting, 
A sight to delight in; 
Confounding, astounding. 
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its 
sound. 

Collecting, projecting. 
Receding and speeding. 
And shocking and rocking. 
And darting and parting, 
And threading and spreading. 
And whizzing and hissing, 
And dripping and skipping, 
And hitting and splitting. 
And shining and twining. 
And rattling and battling. 
And shaking and quaking. 
And pouring and roaring. 
And waving and raving. 
And tossing and crossing. 
And flowing and going. 
And running and stunning. 
And foaming and roaming. 
And dinning and spinning. 
And dropping and hopping. 
And working and jerking. 
And guggling and struggling, 
And heaving and cleaving. 
And moaning and groaning. 
And glittering and frittering. 
And gathering and feathering. 
And whitening and brightening. 
And quivering and shivering. 
And hurrying and skurrying. 
And thundering and floundering; 

Dividing and gliding and sliding. 
And falling and brawling and sprawling. 
And driving and riding and striving, 
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrink- 
ling. 
And sounding and bounding and round- 
ing. 
And bubbling and troubling and doubling. 
And grumbling and rumbling and tumb^ 

ling. 
And clattering and battering and shat- 
tering; 



586 



TREASURiiS OF POETRY. 



Retreating and beating and meeting and 
slieeting. 

Delaying and straying and playing and 
spraying. 

Advancing and prancing and glancing and 
dancing, 

Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boil- 
ing. 

And gleaming and streaming and steam- 
ing and beaming, 

And rushing and flushing and brushing and 
gushing. 

And flapping and rapping and clapping and 
slapping. 

And curling and whirling and purling and 
twirling. 

And thumping and plumping and bumping 
and jumping. 

And dashing and flashing and splashing and 
clashing; 

And so never ending, but always descend- 
ing. 

Sounds and motions forever and ever are 
blending 

All at once and all o'er, with a mighty 
uproar— 

And this way the water comes down at 
Lodore. 

Robb:RT Southey. 



A MONOSYLLABLE POEM. 

Think not that strength lies in the big, 
round word. 
Or that the brief and plain must needs 
be weak. 
To whom can this be true %vho once has 
heard 
The cry for help, the tongue that all men 
speak 
Wlien want or woe or fear is in the throat, 
So that each word gasped out is like a 
shriek 
Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange, 
wild note. 
Sung by some fay or fiend! There is a 
strength 
Which dies if stretched too far or spun too 
fine, 
■VSniich has more height than breadth, 
more depth than length. 
Let but this force of thought and speech 
be mine, 
And he that will may take the sleek, fat 
phrase 
Which glows and burns not though it 
gleam and shine: 
Light, but not heat — a flash without a 
blaze. 

Nor is it mere strength that the short 
word boasts; 
It serves of more than fight or storm to 
tell— 
The roar of waves that clash on rock- 
bound coasts. 
The crash of tall trees when the wild 
winds swell. 



The roar of guns, the groans of men that 
die 
On blood-stained fields. It has a voice 
For them that far off on their sick beds 
lie. 
For them that weep, for them that mourn 
the dead. 
For them that laugh and dance and clap 
their hand; 
To joy's quick step, as well as grief's low 
tread. 
The sweet, plain words we learnt at first 
keep time. 
And though the theme be sad, or gay, or 
grand. 
With each, with all, these may be made to 
chime, 
In thought or speech or song or prose 
or rhyme. 

Addison Alexander. 



THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELE- 
PHANT. 

It was six men of Indostan 

To learning much inclined. 
Who went to see the elephant 

(Though all of them were blind). 
That each by observation 

Might satisfy his mind. 

The first approached the elephant. 

And, happening to fall 
Against his broad and sturdy side. 

At once began to bawl, 
"God bless me! but the elephant 

Is very like a wall!' 

The second, feeling of the tusk 
Cried: "Ho! what have we here 

So very round and smooth and sharp? 
To me 'tis mighty clear 

This wonder of an elephant 
Is very like a spear!" 

The third approached the animal. 

And, happening to take 
The squirming trunk within his hands, 

Thus boldly up and spake: 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant. 

Is very like a snake!" 

The fourth reached out his eager hand. 

And felt about the knee; 
"Wliat most this wondrous beast is like 

Is mighty plain," quoth he; 
" 'Tis clear enough the elephant 

Is very like a tree. 

The fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, 
Said: "E'en the blindest man 

Can tell what this resembles most 
Deny the fact who can. 

This marvel of an elephant 
Is very like a fan!" 

The sixth no sooner had begun 
About the beast to grope. 



POETICAL CURIOSITIES. 



587 



Than, seizing on the swinging tall 

That fell within his scope, 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant 

Is very like a rope!" 

And so these men of Indostan 

Disputed loud and long, 
Each in his own opinion 

Exceeding stiff and strong. 
Though each was partly in the right, 

And all were In the wrong! 

So. oft in theologic wars 

The disputants, I ween, 
Rail on in utter ignorance 

Of what each other mean. 
And prate about an elephant 

Not one of them has seen! 

JoaM G. Sais. 



A WARNING TO MINISTERS. 

When Jonah, to Nineveh mission appointed. 
A runaway preacher, for Tarshish set sail. 
The Lord took in hand his new prophet 
anointed. 
And sent him to college — inside of a 
whale. 
Three days did the business; and, more 
than contented. 
The graduate promptly was spouted 
ashore. 
And went to his work. A whole city re- 
pented; 
The grandest revival on record of yore. 

You laugh at poor Jonah with thoughtless 
derision. 
Scarce dreaming the cross Gods true 
preachers must bear 
To tell guilty sinners God's terrible vision. 
How Judgment hangs o'er them by only 
a hair; 
But bear the same cross, face the scorn, 
persecution. 
The rage at unpopular duty well done. 
And quickly you'll wonder, and ask the 
solution. 
Why Jonahs we find not a thousand for 
one. 

But ah! let the preachers and pastors take 
warning: 
If God call his prophets, then sro where 
you're sent. 
No proud parish fearing, nor poor yjarish 
scorning; 
Be humble and faithful, then power shall 
be lent. 
When preachers are true to their glorious 
commission, 
Then kings sit in sackcloth and cities are 
won; 
But preachers, too oft, are in Jonah's con- 
dition. 
And needs must be "whaled" ere God's 
work can be done. 

GSORGB LANSINQ TaTLOR. 



INDIAN HYMN. 

[Note. — -Sung by Uyram Leboo. an Ottowa loilian. 
many years ago. J 

In the dark wood, no Indian near, 

Den me look heav'n and send up pray'i 

Upon my knee so low. 
Dat God on high in shining place 
See me in dark with teary face — 

De good man tell me so. 

God send his angel, take me care; 

He come himself and hear my pray'r. 

If inside heart do pray; 
He see me no^^'. he now me hear; 
He say, "Poor Indian! never fear; 

Me mid you night and day." 

Den me love God mid inside heart. 
He fight for me: lie take niy part; 

Ha save my life before. 
God love poor Indian in the wood; 
So me love God and that be good; 

Me love him to time's more 



GOOD COUNSAIL. 

The followinq poeui is in what is called Middle 
old English, and was composed by Chaucer, an Eog- 
lisb poet who lived iri40*1400 A. D. The poem rep- 
resents some of the peculiar expressions and the 
spellin;; then in use. To assist the reader in 
understanding the poem, we give a glossary of the 
words with which he may hare difficulty. 

Behove f behoove : concern the well-being of. 

Blent, blinding ; deceiving. 

Buxomnesse, submissiveness : obedience. 

Climbing, attaining slowly. 

CrockCt a crock. 

crooked, not upright or straightforward. 

Dede, d*'ed. 

Deme, to judge. 

Drede, dread. 

Ech, each. 

Fro, from. 

Ghost, spirit. 

Horde, treasure. 

Xall, an awl. 

Peine, cause to take pains. 

Prease, abundance ; plenty. 

Presse, crowd ; throng. 

Rede, read. 

Redresse, to remedy or put right. 

Savour, take pleasure in ; enjoy. 

Sothfastiiense, honesty : truthfulness. 

Spume, to strike against. 

Tikelnessc, unsteadiness ; uncertainty. 

Tourneth, turneth. 

Weive, shun ; forsake. 

Wele, wealth : riches ; prosperity. 

Wrastling, wrest line 

Fly fro the pres.se. and dwell with soth- 

fastnesse. 

Suffise unto tliy good though it be small; 

For horde hatli hate, and climbing tikel- 

nesse. 

Prease hath envy, and wele is blent over 

all. 
Savour no more than thee behove shall. 
Rede well thyselfe that other folk canst 

rede, 
And trouth thee shall deliver; it is no 
drede. 

Peine thee not ech crooked to redresse. 
In trust of ner that tourneth as a ball; 



588 



TREASURES OF POETRY. 



Great rest standeth in little businesse. 
Beware also to spurne againe a nail, 
Strive not as doth a crocke with a wall, 
Deme thy selfe that demest others' dede, 
And trouth thee shall deliver; it is no 
drede. 

That thee is sent receive in buxomnesse; 

The wrastling of this world asketh a fall. 

Here is no home, here is but wildernesse; 

Forth, pilgrime! forth beast, out of thy 

stall! 
Looke up on high, and thanke God of all! 
Weive thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee 

lede. 
And trouth thee shall deliver; it is no 
drede. 

Geoffhet Chaucer. 



SONG OF THE DECANTER. 

There was an old decanter, 
and its mouth was gaping 
wide; the rosy wine 
had ebbed away 
and left 
its crys- 
tal side ; 
and the wind 
went humming, 
humming; 

up and 
down the 
sides it flew, 
and through the 
reed-like 
hollow neck 
the wildest notes it 
blew. I placed it in the 
window, where the blast was 
blowing free, and fancied that its 
pale mouth sang the queerest strains 
to me. "They tell me — puny con- 
querors! — the Plague has slain his ten, 
and War his hundred thousands of the 
very best of men; but I" — 'twas thus 
the bottle spoke — "but I have con- 
quered more than all your famous con- 
querors, so feared and famed of yore. 
Then come, ye youths and maidens — • 
come drink from out my cup, the bev- 
erage that dulls the brain and burns 
the spirit up; that puts to shame 
the conquerors that slay their 
scores below, for this has del- 
uged millions with the lava 
tide of woe. Though in the 
path of battle, darkest 
waves of blood may roll, 
yet while I killed the body 
I have damned the very 
soul. The cholera, the 
sword, such ruin never 
wrought, as I, in mirtli or 
malice, on the innocent have 
brought. And still I breathe 
upon them, and they shrink 
before my breath; and year 
by year my thousands tread 
THE TERRIBLE ROAD TO DEATH." 



BREVITY OF LIFE. 

Beiboldl 

How short a span 
Was long enough of old 
To measure out the life of man! 
In those well-tempered days his time 
was then 
Surveyed, cast up, and found but three- 
score years and ten. 

Alas I 

And what is that? 
They come, and slide, and pass. 
Before my pen can tell thee what. 
The posts of time are swift, which hav- 
ing run 
Their seven short stages o'er, their short- 
lived task is done. 

Our days 

Begun, we lend 

To sleep, to antic plays 

And toys, until the first stage end; 

Twelve waning moons, twice five times 

told, we give 

To unrecovered loss — we rather breathe 

than live. 

Row vain, 

How wretched is 

Poor man that doth remain 

A slave to such a state as this! 

His days are short, at longest; few, at 

most; 

They are but bad, at best; yet lavished out 

or lost. 

They 1)6 

The secret springs. 

That make our minutes flee 

On wheels more swift than eagles' 

wings. 

Our life's a clock, and every gasp of 

breath 

Breathes forth a warning grief, till time 

shall strike a death. 

How soon 

Our new-born light 

Attains to full-aged noon! 

And this, how soon to gray-haired 

night! 

■\Ve spring, we bud, we blossom, and we 

blast. 

Ere we can count our days, our days they 

flee so fast. 

They end 

When scarce begun. 

And ere we apprehend 

That we begin to live, our life is 

done. 

Man! count thy days; and if they fly too 

fast 

For thy dull thoughts to count, count every 

day thy last 

Fhanois Qdables. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



591 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Some of the poems in this book were selected from periodicals which did not 
ascribe any authorship, the editors using merely the word ■'selected." These along 
with those poems which are genuinely anonymous, make up the great number which 
appear without the author's name, and which are therefore classed as anonymous in 
the indexes. 



A baby at rest od mother's brea-tt An4>n 254 

A balij- on a wumao's breast. Oeorye M. Vickerg 217 

A bar to liea\en, a door to bell Anon 2^2 

A beaatiful piece of patcLett aD<l 8brecU. Anon 239 

A bitter cup each life must drain Whittier 331 

A blessing from heaven. Emma I. Cotton 485 

A broken altar. Lord. Thy servant.... G. Herbert 5S4 

A i:loud of dust id .Tohnstown's, ..Vc^'ie Pelham l.'i'j 

A country curate visiting his flock Anon Ji7 

A cry is ever sounding Anon 530 

A fade<l leaf, the touch of Anna K. Thomas 573 

A friend once turned to me and eaid ^.Anon 374 

A garden-plot of sonny hours Mabel Earle 521 

A gentle b«iy, a manly boy Anon 570 

A girl that is willing to battle../. J. A. Miller 277 

A glorious tree is the old gray oak. George Hill I«'7 

A golden goblet each man holds. ...\e//ie OUon 240 

A gooJ wife ro** from her be«I one mom. .4non 2'):; 

A gun is beard at the dead of J. L. ilolloy l.Vl 

A house is built of bricks and 8lone9...-.4no» TVi 

A hundred thousand souls a day Anon 5'J'J 

A lady fair swept through the... .Setlie Olson 3S7 

A life" of l>eauty lends to all it tieefi....Wkittier 4*;" 

A little crib beside the bed Anon 240 

A little elbow leans upon soar....ifary It. .Smith I'r^ 

A little face to look at Anon 5tJa 

A little life Anon 3<tO 

A little talk with Jesus Anon 44:; 

A little way from the busy Emily Thorpe 314 

■A little while" Dtcight Williams 452 

A little word of loving is more to her Anon 187 

A man can build a mansion Anon ?,*^ 

A mighty hand from an exhanstless MTn.Tiryant 22:i 

A minute spent in secret prayer....G. D. Oldham 440 

A monument for the soldiers Riley 14!t 

A mother's love Marchioness De Spadara 25<". 

A mournful sermon greets my..../>. H. Warner 334 

A night had passed away J. G. Percival 10i» 

A painter quickly seized bis brush, .H. A. Lavely 217 

A perisheil bud. a broken leaf. .inHi K. Thomas 313 

A rest wherein all discords R. L. Austin 470 

A right to tread so softly .4non 254 

A song and a bIessiDg....J/r>t. if. J. E. Crairford SU 

A stands for alcohol .4non 2R1 

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.--/oftn Keats 195 

.K thousand miles from land are....ff. W. Proctor 122 

A traveler through a dusty road ilackay 194 

A troop of soldiers waited at the door .4Tion 7" 

A year untrfwl before me lies R. M. Offord 447 

A youngster at scho-il. more sedate Covper 5*iS 

Abide with me: fast falls the eventide Lyte 491 

Ahram and Zimri owned a field together. C. Cook 59 

After the Christian's tears -4non 372 

After the joys of earth Anon 372 

After the spring and the labor..../. W. Sanborn 134 

Again the violet of our early days E. Elliott 127 

Ah, child, with your lightsome C. E. Fisher 577 

Ah. gentle sprinff. thy halmy D. 8. Warner 128 

Ah. me! and what is life? -4non 191 

Ah! what is life? How short it T. L. Bailey 216 

All are architects of fate Longfellow 241 

AH are not taken! There are left....Broicn*ng 314 

All day. like some sweet h\T^.. Elizabeth Smith 256 

Al day the wife had been Josephine Pollard 20 

All for Jesus! All for Mrs. E. E. Williams 523 

All forgiven is the message .Jennie C. Rutty 430 

All nature ministers to hope..//Qrtici/ Coleridge 481 

All night lODE we watched the ebbing.... Sonar 294 

All night the booming Felicia D. Hemans 289 

All the way my Savior leads me Crosby 417 

All the way through life's Clara M. Brooks 501 

All things that are on the earth shall Anon 408 

All this world, its wealth and D. S. Warner 426 

Almighty King, whose wondrous hand....Cotfper 404 

Alone. I stand beside life's Anna K. Thomas 518 

Alone I stand; on either W. W. Ellsworth 119 

Alone 1 walker] the ocean strand. ...H. F. Gould 519 

Alone in some secure retreat Charles E. Orr 521 



Alone with Jesus : oh. how sweet..C. TV. Saylor 

Along the road to Bethany Eca M. Wray 

Amid the cares of marrie<J life .4non 

Among my tender vines I spy ^..Anon 

Among so many what are they Anon 

Among the swe<-t jx-as Sellie Olson 

An angel was sent from the Jennie Maft 

An ardent spirit dwells with G. Crabhe 

An Austrian army, awfully arrayed Anon 

An iceberg drifting in the Polar «eas Anon 

An old man dreaming sits J, P. Prickett 

And is she gone — <Iear Celia D. 8. Warner 

And our beloved have departed Anon 

And what is so rare as a day in JuQe''....Loicen 

And what is truth, asked Pilate D. S. Warner 

Angel faces watch my piUov....Rosa V. Jeffrey 

Announced by all the trumpets of Emerson 

\nother year, another year R. F. Littledale 

Another year has come and gone..Z>. S. Warner 

Another year is dawning! Hacergai 

Are you living with a purpose? Anon 

Arise and sbine. O Zion Robert Rothman 

As a beam o'er the face of the Moore 

As down a hundred stairs we....Lydia M. Millard 

As down in the sunless retreats of the Moore 

As fragrance sweet perfumes. .../^a&c/ C. Byrum 

As I went down the street to<Iay Anon 

"As thy days thy strength shall Havergal 

As we gaze with backward C. W. Saylor 

Asleep in Jesus I Blessetl.. 1/r^. Margaret Mackau 

At home or away, in the alley or Anon 

At Wartburg Castle sat a son D. S. Warner 

Away e'er the spring blossoms_...j/ari?are< Scott 

Away from the present of pain Anon 

Away to the west the Fannie I. Sherrick 

Away with the demon Elizabeth M. Croeby 

Awful night! Black and dense Jennie Mast 

Ay. tear her tattered ensign down !- Molmes 



Baby is dead — speak low Francis S. Smith 

Baby's hands ! how daintily fine Anon 

Back in the misty ages past A. R. Fulton 

Back to the blesse*^! old Bible D. O. Teasley 

Backward, turn backwar<l-.-£'Iica6efA A. Allen 

Bathed in unfallen sunlight Bonar 

"Be circumspect." my mother said Inon 

Be glad when the fiowers have faded .4rton 

Be kind to thy father; for when thou liron 

Be not content : contentment.... £i/a W. irilco.r 
Be of good cheer through ihe....Charlotte Murry 

Be patient, life is very brief .4Mon 

Be strong, my soul, in <^Ofl most high .inon 

Be strong to hope. O heart Adelaide Procter 

Be strong today: the world needs.... IT. T. Field 

Be swift, dear heart, in loving Anon 

Beautiful faces are those that wear Anon 

Beautiful sun. that giveth us W. A. Bixler 

Before I trust my fate to thee .4non 

Before thou trust thy fate to me Anon 

Before Vespasian's regal throne .4non 

Behind him la.v the gray Azores J. Miller 

Behold! How short a span Francis Qtintles 

Behold the fowls of the air C. E. Orr 

Behold the Robin's breast aglow....-/. Burroughs 

Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull .4rton 

Ben Fisher had finished his Frances D. Gage 

Beneath a shady elm-tree Ada Carleton 

Beneath the blood-staine<] lintel I with inon 

Beneath the rocky peak that....Trtniam Butler 

Beside the still waters, oh IT, C Rirhnrds 

Better than grandeur, hf-tter.. Mrs. J. M. Winton 

Better to smell the violet cool O. McDonald 

Betn-een the dark and the daylight.. ..Z-onff/fiiow 

Beware, beware, ere tbon takest Tennyson 

Beyond these chilling winds Xan''y Priest 

Bird-like she's up at day Paul H. Hai/ne 



48S 
340 

38 
571 
532 
104 
.543 
47C 
584 
201 

40 
299 
299 
130 
389 
299 
101 
334 
338 
490 
20C 
481 
198 
152 
491 
196 
571 
462 
345 
510 
534 
385 

83 
313 
323 
283 
353 
145 



305 
562 
112 
348 
245 
483 
207 
174 
23 
215 
458 
439 
469 
453 
279 
206 
165 
103 
»& 
86 
144 
168 
588 
446 
127 
240 
263 
567 
374 
324 
415 
218 
196 
563 
177 
511 
2€0 



JIV2 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



Blessed land of Jmieal thrice WhiUUr S'2'* 

Blessing ou the band of womeu....Il'. U'dlidce 254 

Blessing ou Ibee. little mau H"fti(h'er 5C0 

Blest be the tie that binds. John Fawcttt 477 

Blest thej- who seek Anon 5S2 

Blind, totally blind Ara J/. Wray 547 

Blindfolded and alone 1 stund....//c/t'« Jarkson 504 

Blovr softly, gales I a tender Emily Judson 540 

Bow. daughter of Babylon Tcnnj/son 57 

Break, break, break, ou th,v eold Tennyson 122 

Breathes there tlie man witb....8ir IV. Scott 151 

Bright glow the portals of iri/liam Baxter 121 

Brightest and Ivst of the sons of li. Hchcr 390 

Broad wave on wave Ella Iligyinson 12;J 

Broadcast thy seetl 1 Anon 534 

Bursting in from scbt>ol or play .Imoh 57S 

But a«lieu. for we must travel D. S. Warner S7G 

By faith I lOv^k beyond Belle Staples 50S 

By Nebo's lonely mountain. .i/rs. C. Ale-rander 53 

By the fiow of the inland river....F. .1/. Finch 150 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone.... ffd/pA Hoyt 43 

By thine own soul's law rakenham Beatty £00 



Can gold calm passion? Edtvard Yoitn^ 209 

Can it be really I who, lying here Anon 3S 

Can the spirit of a mortal D. S. Warner 415 

Carelessly drifting, the world J. B. Bntn^im 54S 

Cherish kindly feelings Mrs. M. A. Kidder 503 

Child of my love, lean hard Anon 452 

Children, have you seen the budding .4iion 572 

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor.,..!!'. C. Doaue 233 

Christ never asks of us such heavy labor.. .Inon 497 

Christ possessed, oh. glorious thought. Anon 416 

Christlike — Christian let it be Anon 441 

Christian, when thy way seems darkest..... Inow 44S 

Christmas gifts for thee Haccryal 339 

Climbing the mountain wild and high Anon £11 

Cling to thy home! If there Robert Bland 23 

Closetl eyes can't see the white roses .Irion 1S9 

Closely bending to each other XetUe Olson 97 

Come, brother, turn with me from....i?. H. Dana 354 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree Bryant lOS 

Come stand by my knee, little children .4non 505 

Come to Jesus now and live C. A. liertcick 542 

Come to me. O ye children Longfellow 509 

Come when the ray of early morn is Anon 545 

Come ye apart and rest awhile Anon 451 

Coming home in the cold, gray twilight Atton 39 

Consolinij wonls the Savior Amos E. Flint 461 

Could 1 command with voice or.. ..J. Montgomery 477 

Could we but draw back the c urta ins.... ffip /in.*; 195 

Courage, brother, do not stumble .Y. M. Leod 436 

Cover them over with beautiful Carleton 14S 

Crown of the Cascade mountain E. Sheffield 119 



Daniel's wisdom may I know Anon 362 

Dare to think, thoujih others frown Anon 200 

Dark is the night, and hlful W. It. Duryea 31 

Darkly the shades of mystic gloom. .Jennie Mast 420 

Day is dying on the Elsie E. Egcmwier 105 

De Massa ob de sheepfol' i^allic McClean 3S0 

Dear day of days I the l>est of all S. Finley 332 

Dear common flower that growest totcell 107 

Dear Savior, those virtues divine. .JoAn yetcham 493 

Deep as the silence of thought.. -Inno K. Tho/nas 111 

Deeper than the depths of ocean.... TT. J, Henry 420 

Despair stalks daily through. ...Aj-rftie A. Bolitho 536 

Did you speak a word of love today? Anf>n 527 

Did you tackle that trouble Harrison Lee 17S 

Disappointment — His appointment Anon 504 

Do not crouch today and Adelaide Procter 225 

Do not trouble trouble Mark Guy Pearse 202 

Do ye hear the children weeping? Brotcning 2S0 

Do you know you have asked for the-.-Broicninj; 76 

Do your best, your very best Anon 551 

Does he forget when the clouds.. ..Jennie Mast 463 

Don't hunt after trouble Anon 178 

Don't let the song go out ot....Kate B. Stiles 166 

Don't marry a man to reform him Anon 285 

Don't waste your time in longin? Awow 18S 

Drawn out. like lingering bees.. ..Anno D. Green 76 



Each day. when the Margaret Sangster 29S 

Earth is a battle-ground.. ..3ff\«. Emily Hafford 235 

Earth with its dark and dreadful.... A hVe Cary 515 

England's sun was slowly setting Anon 85 

Eternal hope! when yonder spheres Anon 479 



Fading away, like the stars of the Bonof 537 

Taiulrr her slow steps Caroline Xorton 290 

Family How, thou falling.. ..Juiiuvv (;. Percival 236 

Fair art^ the flowers and the tiichard Realf 203 

Fair autumn. goUUni Mary Hetphingstine 572 

Faith does not ilwell in fancy's.. ..if. E. Warrat 476 

Far away in lanils immortal Jennie Mast 455 

Farewell? Oh, no I It may not be Anun 87 

Father, a name forever dear.....l/»\s. o. Jaqttes 294 

Father, dear. I bnuibly bow W. A. Bixler 552 

Father, I know that all my life.. ..Anno Waring 493 

Father in heaven. I ask of thee...-U'. T. Sleeper 4SS 

•"Fear thou not. for 1 am with thee" .Inon 454 

First, somebwly told it Mrs. M. A. Kidder 56S 

"Five cents a ghiss" Josephine Pollard 275 

Fleetly hath passed the year jN". /*. iri/Iis 137 

Flow gently, sweet Afton. among thy Burns SO 

Flow on. swiH-t streuinlel. flow //. B. Ui'il 99 

I'ly fro the presse. and dwell with t'hattccr 587 

Folded ueath the waving grasses Anon 315 

Follow me: I'll guide thee home....JmnJ« Mast 468 

For her this line is i>euueil I'oe 581 

I'or pasture lamis fohled Margaret Songster 207 

I'or the wealth of patbh'ss Lucy Lai'Coin 407 

For thj" dear sake, my little....AH»ie Bussell 552 

Forever the sun is ixiurlng his gold Anon 352 

Forget each kindness that you do Anon 221 

Forgive and forget! 'tis a ma.xim..S. E. Gordon 193 

Forgive and forget! why. the Charles Swain 223 

Freshly the cool breath of the A*. P. Willis 68 

Fret not thyself because of evil-doers Anon 396 

Frieud after friend ileparts....Jii"ie*t Montgomery 511 

Friend sailor, does the balmy O. F. Linn 546 

Friendship, thou'rt false! 1 hate thy Anon 585 

From day to day, from year to ('. E. Orr 517 

From far gray ritlges bald aud....H. F. O'Beinie 110 

Frvna tireenland's icy mountains R. Heber 538 

From the banks of storied Indus.... Anna Thomas 529 

From tlie mint two bright new pennies Anon 199 

From the sunny clime of Annti A'. Thomas 574 

Fmsty is the morning, and the....t'. A. Hericick 135 



Garner the beautiful as you. ...Anno Henderson 209 

Geutle Shepherd, lead me safe Anno Thomas 488 

Gently, mother, gently Anon 37 

"Get ye up from the wrath of God's.. ..irAi»ier 64 

Give and thou shalt receive Ella W. Wilcox 218 

Go bury thy sorrow Anon 453 

Go, feel what I have felt Anon 275 

Go forth to the battle of life my boy Anon 564 

Go sing the songs you cherish well .4Mon 41 

Go smiling through this world of..l('. C. Martin 210 

Go to thy rest, fair child. ..Urs. L. H. Sigourney 290 

God caretb for thee, weeping one Anon 443 

God holds the key of all univuown Anon 421 

GiHi. I pray to thee for patience.. Pj/it'ta Chapin 490 

Gml is love, his mercy brightens. .John Boxcring 405 

'*God is love." So spake a J. B. Branam 341 

Got! loves the mountains Anon 97 

Goil never would send ytm the darkness.. ..Anon 444 

God moves in a mysterious way Coxvper •155 

God of earth's extended W. O. B. Peahod]^ 411 

Gixl of the fair and open sky Anon 405 

God of our fathers, known of old Kipling 147 

Gml wants your ransomed powers.. ..O. F. Linn 440 

God's creatures, o'er his vast Jennie Mast 438 

God's way is best C. W. Xaylnr 505 

God's ways are not like human ways Anon 361 

Golden head so lowly Mrs. R. S. Howlatid 566 

Goldenhair climbed upon Grandpapa's .Inoii 552 

Gone, gone, sold and gone Whitticr 65 

Gone is the spring with all its D. S. iromcr 135 

Gone to return no more Mrs. if. Crawford 307 

Good-by. kitchen, faithful Ruth Montcith 260 

Grandpapa's hair is very white Maria Cratk 29 

Great God! who worlds In being.. ■*nno Thomas 477 



Hail the day so Ions expected Anon 387 

Hail to the planting of liberty's.. ..A. B. Street 141 

Hail. Whittler. crowned by worth.. Swsic Clark 324 

Half a league, half a league Tennyson 155 

Hallowed l>e thy name Tennyson 409 

Hard luck! you say because you— .E. C. Awrin 175 

Hark I the voice of Jesus crying.. Doniel March 630 

Hark, what mean those holy voices.. J. Cnwood 409 

Harness me down with your fiporae Cutter 207 

Has anger any place today .4non 196 

Hast thou sounded the Mrs. M. LeOrange 256 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



593 



HaTe faith In tb<? l*o/, or*! believlog Anon 573 

Hare ye looke<J for hUwu lo tbe Uetwrt vlnon 533 

Hare you beard of the bouwhoW Falry....4iM>n 576 

Have you bc-ani of tb»_- tMrribUf filla Wilcox 177 

He came to my denk witli a qulwrlng llp./ln'/n 188 

He coulrlDt Hlaii ao'l VoAn L. Hhroy 400 

He fell an<l can oot rise O. F. Linn 'A'A9 

He boIdH r*:menit>r;iDce fJeorgia V. Elliott 427 

He IH the frfiimaD wb'^m tbe truth.,,. C'oicper 143 

He leadetb me, aod »o I neeil not Anon 419 

He leadetb me, oh. blewtted J. H. OHmore 423 

He llveB the \>em who Dcvar. Adelf^ert Caldtrell 175 

He llveth lonif wbo llveih well JBonar 242 

He lovet* to watob tbe wavfs at play An-m 1J*0 

He offered hlmm-lf for the laod he loveU,...-4non 257 

He nat at tbe dlDoer-table Anon 29 

He Hat by a furnar-e of sevenfold heat Anon 499 

He aat ujxin the "aMK'a foal" and....\. /', WilHg 00 

He seems to be several itarianne Fanninfjton 575 

He seea when their fwtKterw falter Anon 385 

He stood ^>*•fo^e the Sanbe<Jrin John Hay 349 

He that huntH around for trouble Anon 213 

He that ia down nee<J fear oo fall Hunyan 341 

He touched ber hand aod the fever left., ..Anon 352 

Hear the Klwlifes with the bells Poe 212 

Hear tbe Father's ancient promise Havergal 455 

Hi:?avf-D hath Its crown of Stars fi. MaHHcy 90 

Heaven Is not reached by a J. O. Holland 242 

Heavier tbe cross, the nearer Hchmolke 449 

Help me. dear Lord to see- B. T. Warner 494 

Her step Is slow and weary Anon 31 

Here are old trees, tall oaks and Hryant 144 

Here are tbe houses of K\xV!....WilHam Wallace :!20 

Here on this neck of land ICH-.a L. Martyn 7><}2 

Here's a hand to the hoy wbo....r. //. Deicey 557 

Hi^h up In heaven tbe foamy Hnrah Haxryer 98 

His life on earth was ebbint; ■/. O. Andcrnon 544 

Ho! Bonny boy. with cheeks W. Jlazeltine 574 

Hold diligent conv<frtie with thy children.. ..Anon 2o 

Hold it back, tie It down fiylney Dayre 577 

Holy and Infinite, viewless Havergal 402 

Home again! mother, your....A6W6 M'Kecver 3.*i 

Home Is where affection binds Anon 27 

Home's not merely four siiuare walls Anon 39 

Hope springs eternal In the human Pope 230 

How blessed the time of C. H. Devey 387 

How bright were the days of ./. W. Byerg 336 

How calm and t>eautirul the....TkomaM HaMtinytt 385 

How calm, how sweet the JantrM Jtowland 135 

How dear to my heart are H. Woodtcorth 45 

How desolate were nature and how....C Wilcox 109 

How does the water come down ftouthey 585 

How easily he turns tbe tide....^u«an Voolidge 410 

How easy It Is to sjioll a day Anon 203 

How fearfully thy guilty soul O. F. Linn 341 

How firm a foundation, ye ficorge Keith ATA 

How (jayly sinks tbe gorge<»us sun Tennyson 510 

How g*^e8 the fight with th"e Bonar 4.32 

How happy and Joyful the hours Anon 429 

How I love thee, little girl SelUe Olxon "><;] 

How much the heart may Elizabeth Allen 200 

How poor, bow rich, how abject E. Young 235 

How sbalt thou bear the cross that now.. ..Anon 435 

How smooth the sea-beach pebbles are.. ..Anon 505 

How soon the Joys which... J". H. Ashabranner 226 

How soon the year has pa.ssed away Anon 333 

How soon they fade, our Hichard Wilton 220 

How still tbe morning of the...../imc« (Jrahame 2*14 

How sweet this bond of If. H. Warner 431 

How sweet to trus* in Jesus J. P. Carter 420 

Hamlllty, O grace so sweet I C. E. Orr 477 

Hush, my dear! lie still, aod Watta 505 



I am cleaning bonse toflay dear one Anon 210 

I am dwelling on tbe mountain Anon 419 

\ am far frae me hame Mm. Mary Demarett 507 

I am glad that thou art Man/ llrlphinrjutine 431 

I am old and blind! Elizabeth Ilotcell 351 

I am only a little poem Anon 302 

I am thinking of a cottage Anon 49 

I arose one mom and from my....C, D. Barrett 127 

I ask for power, that neath my..J/(«« A. Cutter 204 

1 asked a crimson, blushing rose Anon 190 

I askeil an aged man witli hoary Anon 174 

I asked for bread; God gave a stone Anon 441 

I asked the Lord to let me do Anon 442 

I can not always see the way that leads. .Anon 503 

I can not say Anon 496 

I can not tell when the Jennie Matt 431 

I caught a glimpse of Jesus' tace..Clnra Brook" 417 

I could not do without thee Havergal 494 



did but dream. Whiltier 

didn't think I could do It Anon 

do not ask, O Lord, that Adelaide Procter 

do not like to bear blm pray Anon 

do rememl>er, and will ft. Pollok 

dreamful the plowman told me Amm 

dropi»e<l a i>ebble In tbe H. M. DeLevin 

gave my life for thee Havergal 

gRZt: at tbe lM;autifal Eva M. Wray 

gazed ur»on tlie glorious sky Bryant 

had a little daughter Lovell 

have a friend so precious Anon 

have a very precious g\tt-Jame9 B. Branam 
have It yet. tbe rlear old Book....D. Williamn 

have learned a t>eautiful se<.*ret, Anon 

tiave made my choice forever Anon 

have no cares, O blesse<J F. W. Faber 

have Ut toll, but so did he Anon 

hear tbe soft wind sighing Anon 

hear the voices of children Anon 

heard tbe trailing garments LfmgfelloK 

heard tbe wavelet kiss the Anna Hhipton 

knew him for a gentleman An'tn 

knew that we must part Charlea Bprague 

know a little iandl<K'ke<I bay Anon 

know a rdace where the sun Is Anon 

know not If the dark Dean of Canterbury 

know not what awaits Mm. M. Brainard 

know what shall tiefall me Anon 

know thou art gone to the laod Anon 

leam as the years roll onward Anon 

like tbe ancient Kaxon Longfelloic 

like the Anglo-Kaxon speech Fields 

live for those wbo love me..O. L. Bankn 

love (aod have some Francin Quarlef 

love It. I love It ; and. EHza Cook 

love the beautiful evening Mary h'ealy 

love the words — Perhaps t^ecause Field 

lore to think of heaven Kellie OUon 

love to think there la a Lury M. Lexcin 

I love you. mother." said little Ben Anon 

love your wild romantic D. 8. Warner 

loved a woman and too fondly Tennygun 

mnrke<l the spring as she W. G. Clark 

m\h9, ye now F. W. Hutt 

need not wait until tbe busy day Anon 

need thee. Lord ; I nee«l C. W. Saylor 

ought to love my Savior D. H. Warner 

passe'l one day from care ..Anna Thomas 

praycl for action, and with E. W. Malone 

sal"I It In the meadow-path Lucy Larrom 

sat In my room on a Mattie Oergen 

sat with Doris, tbe shepherd.. ...4. J. Munby 

sat alone with my conscience Anon 

saw a man of go*llike forro..Jfr*. Haycorth 

saw a young bride In her Mary Dana 

saw In a vision the Jennie Ma«t 

see the chariot, where Tennygon 

see the bills of home again Anon 

shall not want, for Georgia C. Elliott 

shot an arrow Into the air Longfellow 

sing the hymn of the conquere*! Anon 

sing the praises of the../,iew-el/i/n Morrison 

sometimes liave thought Anon 

stand at last upon tbe lonesome height. .Anon 

stowl at the tlme-Jjeaten D. O. Teafley 

8tf>od on the bridge at Longfellovc 

think when I read that....J/r». Jemima Luke 
thought, on our marriage... -fi'&en E. Rerford 

tore a r'»se apart Grace Pearl Bronavgh 

turned an ancient poet's book Anon 

walked through the Hezekiah Buttertcorth 

wandered 'neath a cloudless /. L. Letdt 

want that adorning divine _ Anon 

was made to be eaten Anon 

was 80 small they lifted me, ...Mary M'Guire 
watrhed the growth of a little... A»ce Cavcson 

will cast Id the depths Irixh factory girl 

will not doubt, though all my ships Anon 

will paint yon a Blgu. Rnmseller Anon 

wish for such a lot of things.... TT. W. Kent 

wish we were hame to our ain folk .Inon 

wonder where that boy can be Anon 

would not enter on my list of friends. roirper 
would not live alway — live..Tr. A. Muhlenberg 

would not worry If I were B. B. McManun 

il rather write one 3/r». M. Wintermvte 

all the troubles in the world Anon 

brighter than tbat....Mrg. M. J. E. Craicford 
I had known in the.. ..Margaret E. Hanggter 
I knew you aod you kDew,....Vfj*>n Waterman 

I may help some burdened heart Anon 

I should die tonight Anon 



105 
566 
486 

393 
302 
16« 
198 
399 
102 
130 
195 
421 
424 

49 
422 
503 
414 
208 
304 
530 
101 
487 
575 
291 
495 
205 
416 
502 
445 
305 
404 
220 
104 
234 
4O0 

46 
2iA 



458 
502 
112 

87 
408 
291 
4H9 
480 
429 
521 
505 
222 
361 
581 
232 
357 
384 
533 
244 

34 
424 
190 
233 
402 
185 
208 
335 
234 
565 

81 
185 

36 
284 
162 
489 
281 
312 
214 
336 
42S 
2S1 
577 

33 
578 
23.'; 
509 
459 
164 
220 
513 

29 
164 
240 
215 



594 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



If I should see a brother lan^ishing. Anon 

If 1 were a sunbeam Lucy Larcom 

If I were told that 1 must die. ...Susan Coolidge 
If men were a little more....jBmmo P. Seabury 

If no kindly thought or word Anoti 

If none were sick and none were sad .-Inon 

If. sitting with his little worn-out shoe.. ..^non 
If solitude hath ever led th.v....P. B. Shelley 
If stores of dry and learned lore..../). Web.^ter 

If the children find not itrs. M. A. Kidder 

If the treasures of ocean were.. ..J. A. Garfield 
If thou hast ever felt that all on earth. ...4non 
If thou, impatient, do let slip thy cross.. ..Anon 

If we could see beyond today Anon 

If we knew when walking thoughtless— .Anon 

If we would but check the speaker Anon 

If we're thoughtful Just this minute Anon 

If you can not on the ocean... .£. .1/. H. Gates 
If you could go back to the forks of the.. ..Anon 

If you have a friend worth living Anon 

It you have a word of cheer Anon 

If you want a red nose and dim bleary.. ..^HCt» 
If you'd have ber dearly love..../. J. A. Miller 

\t .fou've any task to do Anon 

If you've ever made a garden E. I. Coston 

I'm growing very old Anon 

In a valley, centuries ago Mary Branch 

In a vineyard well attended Jennie Mast 

In Genesis the world was made Anon 

In God's great field of labor Havergal 

In golden youth when seems the earth Anon 

In heavenly love abiding Anna Waring 

In hours of grief oppressed D. TV. Phelps 

In pastures green, not always, Anon 

In silence I must take my seat Anon 

In sin and in sorrow Anon 

In solemn measured tones the TFennie Mast 

In some way or other the Mrs. M. Cook 

In speaking of a person's faults Anon 

In the acorn is wrapped the forest Anon 

In the dark wood no Indian near Anon 

In the quarries should you David Barker 

In the minister's morning sermon.... TTAi^ier 

In the rifted rock I'm resting Mary James 

In the royal gorge I stand O. 0. Ferguson 

In the sad southwest, in the S. Wood 

In the silence that falls on my. ...May Nottage 

In the still air the music lies Bonar 

In the tempest of life, when J. Lawrence 

In the thorny desert Mrs. M. Crawford 

In vain thou seekest in thyself to find Anon 

In vain we strive to keen H. C. Tripp 

Innocent child and snow-white Whittier 

Into a ward of the whitewashed. ..Uorie Lacoste 

"Into all the world." Mrs. A. Hubliard 

Into its lap the treasures H. A. Lavely 

Is Father's eyesight growing dim? Anon 

Is it just the hope of heaven... .Georf7ia Elliott 

Is it they who soar in air B. C. Hoyt 

Is it too late? Ah. nothing's too late....Anon 

Is life worth living? Yes Tennyson 

Is there no God? The A'. K. Richardson 

Is tliere no God? Who unrolled../?. L. Austin 

Is this a time to be gloomy and sad? Anon 

Is thv cruse of comfort tailing? Anon 

It ain't the funniest thing a Carleton 

It appeared that Mr. Hope D. S. Warner 

It comes to me more and more Anon 

It is better to stand alone with God .4non 

It is easy to love when eye meets eye.. ..Anon 

It is not so much what you say Anon 

It is not the gift ostentation bestows Anon 

It is not the work, but the worry Anon 

It Is one thing to read the Bible Anon 

is pleasant to dream of the L. McLain 

is so sweet to know Anon 

the quiet evening time Havergal 

isn't the thing you Margaret Sangster 

Isn't the thinking how grateful we.. ..Anon 

.. lies around us like a cloud Stouie 

It matters little where I was bom Anon 

It may be in the evening Anon 

It may seem hard to wOTK...Frederick Faher 

It takes so little to Ida G. Moms 

It was a time of sadness Mrs. C. Hohart 

It was our wedding day Bayard Taylor 

It was six men of Indostan.. ..7oftn G. Saxe 

It's a bonnie. bonnie warl' W. Mitchell 

"It's only a little grave," they .....Anon 

I've a secret In my bosom Jennie Mast 

I've climbed the Sierra Madres..E. G. Allanson 

I've come to sit upon thy porch .4non 

I've just come in from the... .John H. Yates 



It 
It 
It 
It 

It 
It 



193 
6G8 
332 

39 
169 
172 
27B 
104 

90 

40 
357 
348 
401 
504 
202 
535 
IG7 
267 
252 
208 
194 
283 

24 
174 
437 
358 
118 
347 
582 
539 
384 
456 
293 
424 
560 
543 
342 
453 
207 
553 
587 
570 
344 
423 
324 
320 

41 
505 
457 
343 
406 

42 
503 
155 
530 
134 
225 
415 
332 
202 
236 
410 
410 
120 
526 
ISl 
5S2 
404 
360 
519 
200 
470 
211 
430 
217 
457 
383 
209 
209 
514 
193 
434 
538 
186 
497 

78 
586 
508 
300 
419 

117 

207 

261 



Jacob like, as night came.... A. B. Gildersleeve 342 

Jamie's feet are restless and Emma Dowd 277 

Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Tennyson 55 

Jesus, and shall it ever be Joseph Grigg 405 

Jesus, I my cross have taken H, F. Lyte 487 

"Jesus, lover of my soul" Anon 420 

Jesus, my .Savior, look on me Anon 414 

Jj-.sus. Savior, pilot me Edward Hopper 495 

Judge not the workings Adelaide Procter 163 

Just as God leads me I will go Lampertus 500 

Just for today, my Savior Anon 495 

Just to be tender, just to be true Anon 188 

Just to let thy Father do Havergal 441 



Keep steady, young man, keep steady Anon 180 

Kneel not, O friend of mine A. F. Kent 250 

Know well, my soul, God's hand Whittier 177 



Land of the West! though Eliza Cook 145 

Last night as I lay in sweet J. W. Byers 446 

Laugh, and the world laughs with you.....4non 215 

"Laugh, and the world laughs. ...Clara Brooks 239 

Laugh, little fellow, laugh and....Tr. D. Nenbit 564 

Lay the babe upon my bosom Anon 295 

Lead thy mother tenderly Kate Hogan 573 

Leaf by leaf the roses fall Anon 194 

Learn to give and thou shalt bind Anon 435 

Leave behind earth's empty Havergal 468 

Leave God to order all thy ways Anon 449 

Leaves have their time to fall.. Felicia Hemans 292 

Left behind, earth's fading Jennie Mast 365 

Let me move slowly througu the street.. ..Anon 223 

Let nothing make thee sad.. ..Pa;/1 Flemming 43S 

Let us forget the things Susan Gammons 201 

Let us gather up the sunbeams. .1/rs. A. Smith 163 

Life changes all our thoughts of Anon 1H9 

Life has a burden for every man's Anon 199 

Life has no weary years. ...Afr^. M. Craicford 316 

"Life is a song." so piped Fred Lyster 190 

Light after darkness gain after loss Anon 338 

Light ! emblem of all good and Havergal 450 

Like a cradle rocking, rocking Sale Holm 393 

Linger not long, home is not home Anon 34 

Listen, my children, and you Longfellow 153 

Listen, my soul, to the anthems../sobeI Byrum 407 

Listen to the watermiU Anon 180 

Little children, you must Alice Gary 564 

Little Bower of bonny blue Mary Finch 116 

Little one, what are .vou Havergal 178 

Little rambling, sunny stream Anno Thomas 110 

Little rills make wider streamlets Anon 214 

Lo! a risen Lord we sing Anon 399 

Lo, tliey are gone : That D. S. Warner 349 

Lone rover of tlie pathless deep F. Woodroto 126 

Lonely, and yet not alone Emma Coston 532 

Lonely! No, not lonel.v Anon 422 

Long ago by the gate of a Jennie Mast 371 

Long did I toil and knew H. F. Lyte 418 

Long I wandered on the mountain. .Jennie Mast 413 

"Look up. not down! do you Alice Palmer 192 

Look up. not down ! thou canst....F. C. Cohern 437 

Look what immortal floods the..B. W. Procter 122 

Lord, speak to me. that I may Havergal 526 

Lord, who createdst man in G. Heriert 583 

Lost, lost, lost, a gem L. H. Sigourney 197 

Low hangs the heavy moon Anon 101 

ai 

Maiden! with the meek, brown.... tonp^clloio 553 

Make known the gospel truth, our Anon 584 

Make this a day. There is W. D. Nesbit 440 

"Mama, is there too many of we?" Anon 35 

Man is not all of earth .li'. Baxter 515 

Many a word my tongue has uttered .4non 205 

Master of human destinies J. I. Ingalls 197 

JIaud Muller, on a summer's day Whittier 91 

May, thou month of rosy Leigh Hunt 129 

Men don't believe in the devil now Anon 361 

Men of honor, men of might A'ellie Linn 275 

Men of thought ! be up and C. Mackay 285 

Men speak of a "church D. S. Warner 484 

Men, whose boast it is that .ve Lowell 147 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed....Bri/onf 114 

Methinks it is good to be H.Knowles 231 

Methinks o'er all the realms G. W. Warder 255 

Methinks we do as fretful. Browning 515 

Mid pleasures and palaces J. H. Payne 23 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



505 



More tkiogs are wrought by Tennuson 403 

Morn breaketb in the east .V. P. Willis 63 

Mother. God will not forsake us Anon 28 

.Mother's so good to us. what can we Anon 37 

Must I my brother keep .4non 492 

Must then that peerless form Hhellev 250 

.My birthday I O beloved .V. P. Willis 30 

My boy. be kind to father .4non 561 

My country, 'tis of thee .S. P. Smith 151 

-My dear little girl elimbed..J/rs. A. Henderson ISl 

My father is rich in houses and E. Biiell 418 

My God. I thank thee. vho.... Adelaide Procter 418 

.My heart was heavy ITfiiKicr 199 

-My Jesus, as thou wilt ! Schmolke 499 

My life is so narrow Lizzie Hardy 40 

My love, I have no fear that thou Lowell To 

.My Mother, my Mother! Oh, let me Anon 302 

My .Mother's voice! How .Y. P. Willis 47 

-My soul is not at rest .4noii 526 

-My times are in thy hand Anon 502 

My wee one walked the S. IF. Gillilan 4SG 



Xay, don't forget the old W. T. Hale 36 

Nay. speak no ill Anon 221 

Xay then, farewell Shakespeare 251 

N'ay. you wrong her, my Julia Dorr 84 

Need yet an heir of heaven D. 8. Warner 479 

Never fret yourself to si'e....Prisiilla Leonard 161 

New mercies, new blessings, new Anon 442 

Nigh to a grave that was newly.. ..P. Benjamin 312 

No children's graves in China .1. J. ICidson 538 

No, I can not make him dead, .yo^n Pierpont 292 

No little step do I hear in the hall Anon 573 

No matter what's your trouble .4;iort 176 

No night shall be in heaven Anon 512 

Not dead! Oh, say not Mrs. il. fraicford 307 

Not forever on thy knees .4non 337 

Not in the swaying of the Edicin Arnold 257 

Not in the world of light alone —Holmes 104 

Not more swiftly flies time's Anna Thomas 321 

Not now. but in th.. coming .vears Anon 400 

Not now, my child: a Mrs. C. Peniiefathcr 531 

Not on seas of wild Julia H. Thaijer ISl 

Not understood, we move T. Bracken 179 

Not worlds on worlds in phalans....J. .11. Good 413 

Not yet thou knowest what I do Haver gal 380 

Not your own, but his ye are Havergal 386 

Nothing is lost ; the drop of dew Anon 179 

Nothing to do in this world of ours! .4no» 533 

Nothing to pay ! Ah. nothing Hacergal 545 

Now, this was the work of the....Tr. D. Xesbit 152 



O age of harnessed force that....fr. M. Skinner 353 

O babe upon thy Mother's Maria Lindtsay 402 

O beautiful Zion, fair bride C. w. Xai/lor 4.S4 

O church of God, thou spotless... .rjaro Brooks 4.S4 

O fairest of creation. last and best Milton 255 

O Father, give me grace toda.v C. E. Orr 490 

O flag of a resolute nation J. Montyomery 141 

O fortune-favored heirs of pride— 1. R. Fulton 165 

O God of light and love !....jliina E. Thomas 488 

O golden mo'in that sifts E. E. Clark 79 

O heart of mine, be patient ! Anon 463 

O heart of mine, we shouldn't Riley 170 

O lady fair, tllese silks of Whittier 338 

O land beyond the setting sun ! .4«oft 343 

O little maid, with curling hair .inon 445 

O Lord, my shepherd, kind and.-.O. Q. Coplin 430 

O love divine! no soul has Clara Brooks 350 

O love divine, that stopped to Holmes 422 

O love divine, unfathomed ! D. S. Warner 344 

O mother tlear, Jerusalem Anon 509 

O men, grown sick with Phoebe Cary 45 

O mothers, so weary, discouraged Anon 33 

O music, thou art heaven-bom B. E. Warren 363 

O ocean, vast, extended. great-...C'. W. Xaylor 123 

O pilgrim, bound for heaven's.. fJlorio Hunnex 454 

O rest, ihoti goal of human H. W. Xelson 423 

O Savior, whose mercy, .Sir Robert Grant 356 

O suns and skies and Helen Jackson 133 

O thou by long experience Madame Guyon 414 

O thou chosen church of ,Tesus Havergal 482 

O thou eternal one whose Deryharen 400 

O thou great moTement of the Bryant 244 

O thou in whose presence ./. Swain 401 

O thou not made with hands-.F. T. Palgrave 343 

O thou vast ocean! ever- B. Cornwall 125 

O thou who driest the mourner's Moore 402 

O time and change! — with hair Whittier 167 



O trilling tasks so often Elizabeth Allen 

Of a thousand things that the Ella Wilcox 

Of all the beautiful pictures Alice Cary 

Oft have 1 walked these woodland Anon 

Oft in the stilly night Moore 

Oft I've heard a gentle Edward Brooks 

Oft we ponder, looking yonder Anon 

Often 1 think of the beautiful Longfellow 

Oh ! a wonderful stream is the B. F. Taylor 

Oh, ask not a home in the Eliza Cook 

Oh, bliss of the purified Frank Bottome 

Oh, deem not they are blessed Bryant 

Oh, don't be sorrowful, darling R. Peale 

Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing....TFesiei/ 
"Oh, give me fame!" a youth.... Lor a in McLain 

Oh, happy is he that giveth .inon 

Oh, hark! do you hear G. D. Oldham 

Oh, how I love to steal Mrs. U. Crawford 

Oh ! I have been at the brink of the Anon 

Oh, 1 sometimes wish the Bible had Anon 

Oh, it we are not bitterly .V. P. Willis 

Oh I Is there not a land Samuel Finleu 

Oh, lay thy hand in mine Gerald Massey 

Oh, let them go to the Savior's.. ../J. S. Warner 



voice R. H. Dana 

see by the F. S. Key 



Oh, listen, man I a 

Oh, say ! can you 

Oh, say not so ! a bright old. ...Bernard Barton 

Oh, see the trickling mountain. -..£ia -If. Wray 

Oh, show me where is he Anon 

Oh, softly wave the silver hair Anon 

Oh, that the desert were my Byron 

Oh, that those lips had language Cowper 

Oh, the days when we were boys '. Anon 

Oh, the old, old clock, of the household Anon 

Oh, the snow, the beautiiui snow Anon 

Oh, there are moments for us Phoebe Cary 

Oh, thousand thankless tasks of Eva Be.'^t 

Oh, weep no more for the days..r. W. Williams 
Oh, what is home since Mother's. .Jennie Mast 

Oh, what is thy beloved? J. O. Deck 

Oh! where art thou, my Mrs. M. Crawford 

Oh! where shall I find Jesus ?.,3/attte Gergen 

Oh! Why should the spirit of W. Knox 

Old age is a garden of J. T. Trowbridge 

On a dark November morning.. P. H. Hayne 

On Horeb's rock the prophet T. Campbell 

On the page that is W. D. Gallagher 

On the wide lawn the snow lay Whittier 

Once I heard a song of sweetness Anon 

Once I was happy, salvation C. W. Xaylor 

Once I was in darkness B. E. Warren 

Once it was tlie blessing Aiion 

Once more tieneath my yearning J. 8. Mills 

Once more we hear death's C. E. Orr 

Once Switzerland was free -/. S. Knowlcs 

Once this soft turf, . is rivulet's Bryant 

Once to every man and nation Lowell 

One by one the sands are Adelaide Procter 

One day more and one day less Anon 

One da.v when I, a bo.v Anon 

One little hour for watching with the Anon 

One more day's work for Jlnna Warner 

One step and then another Anon 

Only a few short .vears of life 0. F. Linn 

Only a child ; what can I do-.F. .S. Haf/ord 

Only a few short years of life O. F. Linn 

Only a step between life and death .inon 

Only a woman shriveled and_..-Ke.';^cr Benedict 

Only one little mom.>nt P. B. Davis 

Only one pillar that was Xorain McLain 

Only waiting till the shadows .4non 

Our deepest sorrow no words can tell it -..-4no« 

Our eyes are caught by a Mattie Gergen 

Our Father by right of creation Anon 

Our Father clothes the lilies Clara Brooks 

Our fatliers — where are they, the - Anon 

Our inward feelings testif-V D. ,9. Warner 

Our lives are songs: God writes th'-._ Anon 

Our table is spread for two. tonight Anon 

Our yet unfinished story _ Havergal 

Out from the depths I cry. ...Mrs. if. Bailey 

Out in the country where two roads Anon 

Out of the distance and darkness bo..._ Anon 

Out of the shadows of sadness .-Inon 

Out on the mountain so dark and-.f.. McLain 

Outstretched bencith the leafy Southey 

Over and over again Josephine Pollard 

Over and under and in and.Jfrs. 3f. Kidder 

Over my window the ivy Maru V. Podge 

Over the crowded Judean Cora W. Haves 

Over the highways and byways Anon 

Over the hill the farm boy.../, 7". Trowbridge 
Over the river they beckon to mc-Vaitc!; Priest 



171 
248 
98 
170 
208 
2.'i5 
161 
46 
243 
24 
425 
313 
244 
411 
162 
364 
535 
131 
519 
568 
511 
83 
90 
308 
514 
142 
27 
117 
404 
294 
125 
303 
558 
36 
280 
333 
208 
313 
315 
403 
26 
547 
249 
2C 
559 
377 
198 
167 
383 
382 
422 
417 
214 
361 
141 
142 
151 
107 
522 
50T 
438 
537 
556 
518 
55C 
518 
192 
284 
246 
224 
248 
297 
225 
375 
571 
355 
354 
245 
2« 
450 
457 
191 
416 
514 
542 
54 
192 
28 
428 
3,19 
671 
272 
296 



59G 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



Pain's furnace heat within Julius Stum 498 

I'ast are the auguiyh ami weight. .A'. Hothinan, ."tliO 

i'atdots havf lulled, and in their Coicper 340 

Pause not to dream of the Frances Osgood 205 

i'erchance. O man! thy Frances Brotherson 437 

Poet beloved, again I come Phoebe Holder 325 

Poor soul, the center of my Shakespeare 510 

Poor tired hands that toiled so hard Anon 316 

Precious Snvior, may I live Anon 487 

Press on ! surmount the rocky P. Benjamin 225 

Put them away; he'll Georgia Elliott 311 



Reapers, reapers, one and all....JoiMie Mast 524 

Rescue the ixrishing Fanny J. Crosby 537 

Rest is not quitting Anon 18S 

Rippling brook and flowing B. E. Warren 118 

"Rorb of ages, cleft for me" Anon 188 

Rock of ages, standing fast Anon 492 

Rocked in the cradle of the deep..fi'm»;a Willard 499 

Rude ths manger crib and Myra T. Barrett 527 

s 

Sadly dies the autumn day J. J. McOhr 134 

Said the first little chicken Anon 502 

>>aiut Augustine ! well hast thou Longfellow 233 

Scion of a mighty stock .4. H. Everett 141 

See her! There she running goes]..Xelli€ Olson 555 

Seek not to drop the cross you Ella Wilcox 443 

Send me. and 1 will go Mrs. M. Craicford 501 

Shall we stimd at his coming, his Uion 438 

She comes! she comes! the Anna Thomas 128 

"She hath done what she could"..Jf»Hie iri^yon 532 

She hath gone in the spring-.... IT. H. Burleigh. 304 

She sat on the porch in the E. E. Rexford 574 

She sighed for beauty, for 2IoUie Runcorn 90 

She stood before her father's .Y. P. Willis *i2 

She was a woman worn and thin...l. L. Tuhbs 2si 

She was passing fair with a Mattie Gergcn 393 

Silent and still, sweeping Anna K. Thomas 98 

Silently the shades of evening C. C. Cox 247 

Since I left the Trumpet Office.. i^fere Egermeier 323 

Since the question yon have asked me .4hojj 379 

Sing. O heavens, the Lord hath Harergal 421 

Sinners, turn to Calvary's. ...J/r^. D, Jaqucs 434 

Sit down by the side of your mother Anon 575 

Slowly the sun sinks in the...J/rs. G. W. Tatro 90 

So here hath been dawning another Carlyle 170 

So many die that have not lived at an.....4Ho» 187 

Softly o'er my spirit stealing J. B. Branam 492 

Softly the evening came Longfelloic 49 

Softly, softly o'er time's Anna Thomas 520 

Soldier go — but not to claim Anon 407 

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare Sir Walter Scott 152 

Some day we'll cease our W. W. Titlcy 515 

Some little drops of water Anon 502 

Some murmur when their sky It. C. Trench 464 

Some one is trudging, weary and C. E. Orr 221 

Some say that in heaven a W. J. Henry 428 

Some song unwritten, all have. ...A. R. Fulton 105 

Somebody knows when your heart aches.....4nort 453 

Somehow God always seemed so real...V. Miller 44 

Sometime when all life's lessons. ...May Smith 452 

Sometimes a light surprises Cow()er 425 

Sometimes I am tempted to. .Margaret Sangster 25 

Sorrow broods upon the Gaylord Davidson 293 

Sow with a generous hand..-..4dp/tfi(/e Procter 457 

Spake full well in language quiunt.. Longfelloic 103 

Speak gently. In this world of ours Anon 222 

Speak gently: it is better far David Bates 163 

Speed away, speed away on thine errand.. A/ioii 348 

"Speed, speed thee forth," said E. Geary 154 

Spirit of the great unknown Mary B. Finch 115 

Spirit that breathest through my Bryant 102 

"Stand like an anvil" George W. Doane 168 

Standing at the portals Harergal 433 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, tin<\....Long fellow 31 

Still onward through immensity of.-C. E. Orr 132 

^^till sits the school-house by the, Whit tier 89 

Still, stiil. without ceasing Madame Ouynn 426 

Stil! with thee O my God Bonar 490 

Strengtli for today is all that we need Anon 173 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! Anon 28 

Sunlight upon Judea's hills Whittier 358 

Sunset and evening star Tennyson 252 

Supi>ose, my little lady Phoebe Cary 559 

Sure the last end Robert Blair 511 

Suspense is worse than bitter grief Anon 33 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village Goldsmith 65 

Sweet blind singer over the sea Harergal 326 

Sweet country life, to such Robert Herrick 209 



Sweet day. so cool, so calm, scOeorge Herbert 170 

Sweet evening hour! dear evening hour.....lHo» 101 

Sweet fellowship, tiiy crystal U. S. Warner 427 

Sweet iriend, when thou and I are gone..A?iOM 84 

Sweet hour of prayer! thou Clara M. Brooks 491 

Sweet innocence, thou heavenly grace Anon 480 

Sweet is the voice that calls George Arnold 133 

Sweet morn, so peaceful, calm ('. E. Orr 357 

Sweet the moments, rich in blessing.. J. Allen 430 

Sweet the song of the thrush. ./w/it^f McGaffay 191 



Take me. O Lord, for I am..Carrie Montgomery 504 

Take my withered hands in T. B. Larimore 187 

Take the pillows from the cradle Anon 310 

Tauler. the preacher, walked one Whittier 350 

Teach me thy way, O Father Clara Brooks 485 

Tell Jesus when the burden seems too Anon 439 

Tell me not. in mournful umnbevs.... Longfellow 232 

Tell me. .ve winged winds Charles Mackay 228 

Tell your mother that you Gertrude Flory 551 

"Tempted and tried !" Oh the Havergal 456 

Thanks be to God, to whom envth.... Havergal 409 

The Assyrian came down like the. ...Lord Byron 57 

The balmy scent of spring is...l/r.'*. M. Crawford 127 

The boneless tongue, so small and weak.....4»on 210 

The iKJOk of the new year is Emily Bugbee 576 

The bravest battle that ever was fought. ..Anon 39 

The brilliant orb of day hangs. ...0. F. Linn 96 

The busy year has ceased its. .ifa/(ie Whitney 40 

The camel, at the close of day Anon 499 

The camp has had its day of song..£". Sargent 261 

The child leans on its parent's..../s«ar TTilliajji.'* 425 

The church and the world Matilda Edwards 372 

The church has one...S. Stone and C. W. Naylor 481 

The coarser soul liut lightly feels Anon 282 

The curfew tolls the knell of Thomas Gray 237 

The day is cold and dark and Longfellow 174 

The day is done and the darkness Longfellow 169 

The day is doue ; the weary day. .A'/ira Srudder 494 

The day had been a calm and...../. H. Bryant 136 

The eagle builds his aerie Anon 205 

The earth is full of Josephine Pollard 268 

The evening winds shrieked wildly A7ion 124 

The eventide falls gently now. .Clara Brooks 340 

The Father loves and chastens..../^'. A. Rcardon 444 

The fields are bright with J. //. Ashahranner 131 

The fire burns bright Edward X. Lydick 572 

The fire upon the hearth is low Field 47 

The firmament, the land the air..AHHfl Thomas 520 

The first train leaves at six P. M Anon 32 

The flames ran riot o'er P. H. Hayne 157 

The flower is small that decks T. Davis 161 

The glories of our blood and state.. J. Shirley 227 

The great Creator on his throne... Jennie Mast 170 

The groves were God's first temples....Brj/a«( 113 

The hollow winds begin to blow E. Jenner 583 

The hand of God in chastisement ...ff. Rothman 382 

The head is stately, calm, and wise..,/. G. 8a,ve 219 

The heart that feels a father's D. S. Warner 394 

The hot, still sky is hushed in Gay Waters 132 

The hour for the service was. .Mary Wingate 396 

The hush of evening's holy calm. ...('. E. Orr 487 

The insect bursting from its tomb-like.... Ahou 510 

The kiss of friendship kimV. ..Eli::ab€lh Allen 78 

The kiss that you gave me this morning. ...4hoj! 187 

The land was still: the skies were Anon 534 

The little cares that fretted me Browning 97 

The little lass with curling Eva M. Wra'y 390 

The long rough road is ended Anon 308 

The Lord almighty bless thee Anon 431 

The loved of earth — how Mrs. il. Crawford 314 

The low turf-grass is not a stately tree.. ..Ahoh 440 

The lowering sun now softly sheds.. 0. F. Linn 522 

The maid who binds her T. B. Read 253 

The man across the street E. A. Brininstool 552 

The melancholy days are come Bryant 100 

The mellow year is hasting to H. Coleridge 134 

The moon was shining yet -V. P. WilHs 64 

The morn has dawned t»oth calin.Jsabcl Byrum 450 

The mother sat with her....il/rs. E. C. Kinney 303 

The mounds are sinking level with../. B. Choate 149 

The mountain and the squirrel Emerson 559 

The night was dark, though R. W. Gilder 106 

The night-wind with a desolate.... .V. P. Willis 56 

The old man sits, with folded arms Anon 38 

The old man went to meetin' Anon 355 

The path of God that Jesus trod-.TT. A. Burler 577 

The prayer of the master.. ..f,/e(re//i/» Morrison 406 

The pure testimony put forth in the Anon 381 

The pure, the bright, the beautiful. .DicA-pH* 210 

The quality of mercy is not Shakespeare 476 

The rain had fallen, the poet arose.. ..Tc))»i/son 199 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



50", 



The rain is o'er. Uow A.nilrev:« Sorlun 111 

The rich maD'e son inherilj« lantLs JjOictll 209 

The road of indecision leads F. Ii . liutt 171 

The royal feast wai done E. It. Hill 5:j 

The scene was more heautiful far to Moore 124 

The school was oat. and down the street. Anon 5"u 

The sea awoke at midnight Xongfelloic 12.f 

The sea is a jovial comrade Bayard Taylor 122 

The seed of a song was cast Baveryal 535 

The setting son with dring tieam Anon 1(58 

The sinner's nature gross and D. 8. Warner 383 

The sky is changed — and snch a Lord Byron 102 

The spacious armament on high ./. Addison 401 

The Spirit expressly is heard Jennie Hast 395 

The star is not extinguished when it Bonar 512 

The stars that sang, creation's..../). S. Warner 367 

The storm is brooding Tennyson 103 

The stormy March is come at last Bryant 128 

The sDmmer day has closed Bryant 131 

Tlie summer day is dying now C E. Orr IIG 

The summer's story Ellfn T. Foicler S3 

The sun hath gllde<l Judah's Havergal 378 

The sun bath gone down in..Jfr«. J/. Cratcford 100 

The sun his light and smile Anna K. Thomas 522 

The son on Its beat, in Its Hattie Gergen 345 

The sun that brief Decemljer da.v ir»i((i«r 95 

The son's bright merry beams. Anno Thomas 120 

Tlie sunset's crown of radiant gold. Anon 442 

The term was done: my penalty was....Corl«/on 278 
The things of greatest Talue. ..-Ve//ie Berghome 203 

The thoughts are strange that ./. Brainard 100 

The toils of alchemists whose vain..//. Smith 219 
The tongue of the vigilant clock.... Ri<i't« Davces 298 

The waterpots were aile<l at F. E. Brooks 346 

The waters slept. Night's .V. P. Willis 61 

The way is dark, my child Henry X. Cohb 462 

The way is dark, my Father Henry S. Cohb 462 

The weary one had rest .47ion 495 

The weary teacher sat alone W. H. Venahle 172 

The willing feet that hasten here ...Jennie Mast 321 

The wind is hushed, there is a C. W. Saylor 118 

The wisdom of the world ...../, Grant Anderson 351 
The woman was old and ragged and gray. .Anon 557 
The works of creation, the earth. .B. E. Warren 412 

The world in sin is dying B. E. Warren .546 

The Yankee boy. before he's sent.../. Pierpont 555 
There are beautiful thoughts .J/r«. J/. Cratcford 169 

There are gains for all our R. H. Stoddard 227 

There are lo.val hearts, there are Anon 179 

There are poems unwritten and songs .4non 198 

There are .some hearts like Caroline Spencer 175 

Tliere are tears o'pity and tears Tennyson 199 

There are three lessons I F. Sehiller 173 

rhere are tones never reached W. H. Ogborn 211 

Tiiere are who say that ilrs. Lou, Bedford 227 

There are who say the lover's..../'. K. Hervey 77 

There came a time when the D. 8. Warner 374 

There come the boys ! Oh. dear, the Anon 554 

There Is a faith unmixed with doubt .Anon 398 

There is a grace few mortals find../>, ^. Warner 478 
There is a land by faith I've seen .4. E. Flint .507 

There is a land for which ./. G. Anderson 346 

There is a land, of every J. Montgomery 146 

There is a mystery in human hearts Anon 448 

There is a quiet spirit in these.. Lon^^eliow 166 

Tliere Is a rare and sparkling Emma Coston 478 

There is a reaper whose name is.Eongfellaw 304 

There is a spot to me more dear ,4non 365 

There Is In all this cold and....Fcltcio Hemans 253 

There is never a day so dreary Anon 458 

There Is no death ! the stars go.J. L. McCreery 289 
There is no flock, however watche<l../.on<;/el(oK; 295 

There is no remedy for Sir Aubrey DeVere 178 

There on her bier she sleeps Tennysrjn 301 

There sat two glasses BUed to the Anon 277 

There was a tumult in the city Anoti 147 

Tljere was an old decanter .4nort 588 

There was once a castaway Jean Jngelow 282 

Tliere's a land far away mid the.../. G. Clark 507 
There's a spot on the bank.T. W. Carmichael 238 

There's a way that no fool Georgia Elliott 419 

There's never a day so sunny Anon 170 

There's something in the Edicard Pollock 80 

These are thy glorious works... Milton 412 

T^ey are slaves who fear to speak. ...Loicell 284 

They came in beauty, side by side .4non 576 

They come to us with solemn Anna Thomas 117 

They do me wrong who say 1-.. Walter Malone 199 
They drive Iiome the cows from....J/a)'i/ Kront 270 
They grew in beauty side by.. Felicia Hemans 311 
They never quite leave na.. Margaret Sangster 80 

They said the Master is coming Anon 366 

They sat in silent watchfulness Whittier 251 



They say this world is round, and yet An<//i 

They sin who tell us love can die .<outheg 

They told me wealth waa all in..S. O. Uillyer 

Think not that God deserts the flild _lnon 

Think not that strength lies in 1. Alexander 

This hook Ls all that's left G. P. Morris 

This is no heaven : and yet Bonar 

Tills 'm the forest primeval LongfelloK 



1C3 
478 
ISO 
469 
586 
41 
5<M 
lOT 
12.? 
404 
506 
226 
243 



This is the ship of pearl Molmes 

This same Jesus, oh, how sweetly Mavergal 

This spirit shall return to Thomas Cainpiell 

This way Is long, my darliiig_ Anon 

Those evening bells I those evening Moore 

Tliose merry voices ringing dear Jennie Mast 311 

Thou art gone to the grave Reginald Heber 297 

Thou high and lofty one: B. E. Warren 

Thou must be tme thyself _ _ Anon 

Thou unrelenting past : strong are Bryant 

Though chosen in the furnace J. E. Roberts 

Though clouds of sorrow Jdartha Lippincott 

Though dark clouds gather round..J/o((i« Gergen 424- 
Though I should speak till men..£ro M. Wray 478 

Though the cover is worn Edmund PilUfant 

Though the fig tree shall not Jennie Mast 

Though troubles assail and dangers../. Xeicton 
Though years have glided like a...../. IT. Orerall 

Thought is deeper than all C. P. Cranch 

Three little bugs in a basket_ .Alice Cary 

Three years have fled since _D. *'. ITarner 

Through Father's loving-kindness. ...,/enHic Mast 

Through the solemn midnight ringing Anon 

Through the whirl of wind and.. ..Mrs. M. Rayne 

Thy neighbor? It is he whom thou Anon 

Thy sky is change^! — and such a. Lord Byron 

Thy way. not mine, O Lord Bonar 

"Thy will, dear God, thy hol.v R. Hothman 

Time's the stream on which v^e....Anna Thomas 

Tired of play ! Tired of play -V. P. Willis 

Tired? Well, what of that? _ .Inon 

'Tis a very small thing I ask .Inon 

'Tis beauteous night : the stars../. A. Garfield 
'Tis evening, and the round red..G. T. Lanigan 

'Tis evening: over Salem's towers Anon 

'Tis eventide ; the shadows slowIy..r'(aro Brooks 

'Tis flrst the tme and then the .Inon 

'Tis late: the sun is sinking....,/. TT. Everett 
'Tis midnight o'er the dim mere's... .TennvAon 

'Tis midnight and on Olive's TT. B. Tappan 

'Tis midnight's holy hoar G. D. Prentice 

'Tis night's mid-glory. Earth..Louro McCarthy 

'Tis noon of the springtime Whittier 

'Tis not in temples made with....Anno Thomas 

'Tis only such a narrow line TT, /. Henry 

'Tis so sweet just to know....CI<iro M. Brooks 

'Tis sweet to sit, ere the Xouise Palmiter 

'Tis the last rose of summer Anon 

'Tis the Master who holds the mallet .inon 

'Tis well to woo, 'tis well to £i(;o Coot 

To him who, in the love of nature.. ..Bryant 

To live a hundred .vears or Soame Jenuns 

"To me to live is Christ," and yet H. Huso 

To the home of the Father retnrjiing ...liion 

To thee, celestial innocence D. .". TTornT 

To walk with God — O fellowship divine Inon 

To weary hearts, to mourning Whittier 

Twlay is .vours. its richness and its Anon 

Toil, and the arm grows strong. ./. P. Broomfield 
Tread softly, bow the head....CoroKne Southey 

Treasured deep in memory's Lucy Levis 

Tmst on. dear heart Lexis A. Salmon 

Twas daybreak, and the fingers. ...V. P. Willis 
'Twas near the break of day . .ifarjarct Eytinge 

jTwas night in the beautiful Carleton 

|Twas night: the earth was ..4nno E. Thomas 

'Twas on a quiet Sunday mom .innie .ihey 

Twelve years of sunshine.. ..J/rs. S. A. Thomas 

Two beautiful shining pennies Anrjn 

Two brown heads with tossing crals Inon 

Two children down by the Alexander Lamont 

Two little feet so small Florence Percy 

Two little hands are sweetly D. S. Warner 

Two lovers by a moss grown George Eliot 

Two travelers started on a tour ...tfzjie Case 



411 
437 
228 
468 
162 



358 
38S 
456 
48 
217 
553- 
392 
337 
398 
143 
211 
102 
500 
493 
363 
201 
173 
270 
171 
562 
3S1 
52* 
1C5 
79 
93 
378 
242- 
101 
129 
360 
206 
42S 
130 
189 
303 
222 
24 T 
228 
429' 
.544 
470- 
426 
4.50 
173 
26.5 
310 
42 
461 



71 
405 
397 

S8 
327 

7.5 
231 
1 84 
303 
234 
39.S 



V 

rnanswered yet the pra.ver your lips have Anon 

T nbridled Spirit, thrown upon the lap Anon 

t'nder a spreading chestnut tree Longfellow 

Underneath an apple-tree sat a Carleton 

Vp and away, like the dew of the Bonar 

T'p from the East another day..C'<;;io Thaxtrr 
tp from the South at break of T. B. Read 



460 
115 

260 
79 
.541 
220 
150 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



U[» in early morning light Mrs. Kate Woods 27 

Up in tue attic where I slept Anon 43 

Up, mortal, and act, while the Anon 175 

Upon a mountain height Anon 202 

Upon that sad and awful day T. E. Wilson 253 

UiJon the shingly beach I dream. ...iVei/ie Olson 227 



"Vessels of mercy, prepared unto Bavergal 528 

Voyager on life's troubled sea Anon 545 



Wait is a weary word A. L. Holmes 21S 

Wait not till the little hands are at Anon 37 

Waiting for the close of life Charles currie 51G 

Wahe, giant of oak and steel S. H. il. Dyers 150 

Wandering wind of the west W. R. Dtmroi/ 100 

"Wonted; A boy." How often we Anon 554 

"Wanted: A boy," Well, how. Mary Reese 558 

Wanted, some bright boys C. A. Ruddock 278 

We all might do good Anon 172 

We are making smokeless powder S. W. Foss 284 

We are growing old Mrs. Lida M, Smi^/i 22S 

We are sowing, daily sowing Anon 210 

We buried a little baby today.. J/orj/o/et Lackey 203 
We call him strong who stands unmoved.. ...I710K 215 

We call them dead Lizzie Clarice Hardy 280 

We can not nil be corner stones Anon 502 

We live in deeds, not years P. J. Bailey 227 

We mark the silent step of time. .Anna Thomas 219 

We measured the riotous baby Anon 554 

We rose this quiet Lord's day D. S. Warner 397 

We say it for an hour or for years l»on 

We shall do so much in the years to.....4HOM 
We sometimes look with grateful.... Jenin'e Mast 

We sometimes wonder why our Jennie Mast 

We started one morn, my love and I Anon 

We thank thee. Lord, for Emma Jones 

We wept — 'twas nature wept, .4»ion 

We wish for the lands and the Clara Brooks 

Wearied and worn with earthly cares innn 

Well, Tom. my boy, I must Mary D. Brine 

"What a friend we have in Jesus" Anon 

What a pity nothing ever Anon 

What aileth thee? Thou storm-. .MofMe Geriien 

What am I, that thou Oeorpia C. Elliott 

What Iteauty in the autumn woods.. Anon 

Wliat can a boy do, and where can a Anon 

What can it mean? Is it aught Anon 

What God appoints, enjoy Anon 

What I spent I bad .4non 

What if my lover be dark or Snrnlt McLean 

What if you're made mistakes in../?. T^. .iiistin 

What is fame? 'Tis the W. W. Skeat 

What is heaven? I asked a little .inon 

What Is life? 'Tis but a vapor.. C. W. Saiilor 

What Is noble to inherit Charles Sicoin 

What is pra.ver? 'Tis not C. W. Naylor 

What is our life? It is even....rZaro if. Brooks 

What is the little one J. G. Holland 

What is the real good? John Boyle O'ReilUj 

What is the time to trust A. B. Mmiison 

What matter, friend, though you..H. W. Teller 

What mean these cherished H. E. Nothomi 

What poor weepini: ones were saying Anon 

What shall I wish thee? Anon 

What silences we keep year after year.....4H0re 
What sound, like chariot wheels.. Anna Thomas 

What though before me it is dark Anon 

What though the blossom fall anS....Harergal 

What various hindrances we meet Cowper 

When all life's storms are still Anon 

When autumn breezes rattle. .Heien Richardson 

When barren doubt like a.... A. H. Hallam 

When for me the silent oar Lucy Larcum 

Wlien freedom, from her mountain..,/. R. Drake 
When gentle twilight sits...l/r.<. Liidia Siooiirney 

When I have time so many things I'll Anon 200 

When I sit in the twilight gloaming .Innn 44 

When I survey the wondrous cross /. Watts 

When is the time for prayer? Anon 

When Israel's host desired a riaro Brooks 

When Jesns comes to reward. .Fannie J. Croshii 

When Jonah to Nineveh G. L. Talllnr 

When languor and disease A. M. Toplady 

When lovers part at eventide. .3/r«. M. E. Banta 
When morning's beams first wake.../. W. Phelps 
When my final farewell to the...l/artanne Hearn 

When once we close our eyes in death .4non 

When over the fair fame of friend Riley 

When softlv falls the dew at..J, G. Anderson 



52.S 
308 
405 
85 
403 
513 
540 
530 
35 
223 
190 
542 
518 
1,34 
32 
403 
500 
378 
80 
216 
24 S 
372 
241 
262 
492 
331 
30 
193 
442 
541 
296 
451 
353 
213 
517 
449 
445 
460 
308 
137 
255 
512 
146 
221 



401 
495 
432 
4.34 
587 
447 
87 
91 
506 
245 
208 
497 



When Solomon was reigning in his..J. O- 9a.re 

When some beloved, neath whose Browning 

When the cares of life are /. /•'. McLeister 

When the clouds shall rolL.A'ell!/ Woodworth 

When the dewy light was fading .inon 

When the earth shall cease to be..C. ir. Haylor 

When the evening shadows gather Anon 

When the golden sun is setting..J/rs. E. Hafford 

When the heart is cheery .Anon 

When the hours of day are Longfellow 

When tlie humid shadows hover.. C'oates Kinney 
M'hen the lessons and tanks. .Charles Dickenson 
When the maples turn to crimson..!/. C. Broivn 

When the smile of the Mrs, .4. P. Jarvis 

W'hen the storm breaks over Annie Abey 

When the twilight shades are G. W. Warder 

When the twilight steals iwoa..Elsie Egermeier 
When things don't go to sult....£'. E. ReJrford 

Wlien tliis little life is Mrs. H. C. Gardner 

When unrelenting sorrow wraps ■/. ir. Boxell 

When you see a ragged urchin _ Anon 

When you think, when .vou speak, wben..Anon 

Whene'er I tread the highway Anon 

Where are the countless crystals Havergal 

Where are the dead? O. F. Linn 

Where are you going to stop, brother .4non 

Where ever thou art is the....//, E. McCollum 

"Where is the baby, Grandmama?" ,4non 

Where the autumn sun is shining Anon 

Where the ocean's waves are Mary E. Hoice 

Wherever be thy spot James B. Branam 

Which shall it be? Which shall Anon 

While life's peaceful twilight Jennie Mast 

While we choose, we are not willing. .Inon 

Whither, midst falling dew.._ _ Bryant 

Who are the nobles of the earth Anon 

Who has this book and reads It not,..- Anon 

Who is my life but Christ D. S. Warner 

Who is tills comes knocking.... Anon 

Who lacks for bread of daily work....C. Mackay 

Who of us know the heartache S. C. Allen 

Who shall tell our vmtold need Mavergal 

Who will care? When we lie beneath Anon 

Who will suffer with the Savior../). S. Warner 

Who.se bov will next be sacrificed Anon 

Why all this toil for triumphs Mrs. H. Deming 

"W'hv didn't you tell us sooner?" _ Anon 

Why do we wait till ears are deaf? jinon 

Why do von wail, O wind Thomas Hood 

Why smiled the babe in Mrs. M. Crairfori 

Will affection still enfold me Anon 

Will they meet us, cheer, and J. E. Rankin 

With fingers weary and worn Thomas Hood 

With humbled heart, Mrs. J. C. Aldrirh 

With rumble of thunder and Lorain McLain 

With the glory of winter ir;ii((ier 

With what glory comes and Loagfellou' 

With what unknown delight the mother .4non 

Within his sober realm of leafless....'/. B. Read 
Without you, love, the day would....//. Dumoni 
Witliout vour showers I breed Phillip Frenau 

Woodman, spare that tree George P. Morris 

Words are lighter than the Adelaide Procter 

Wonls are things of little cost Anon 

Work and the hours are C. Tl'. Stevenson 

Would vou have the Prince Jenme Ma.-^t 

Would vou know the higher way 'i-non 



60 
310 

486 
516 
24 
448 
516 
520 
405 
246 
41 
551 
136 
521 
464 
213 
137 
176 
469 
256 
558 
436 
409 
469 
506 
434 
82 
563 
75 
124 
466 
25 
391 
500 
HI 
202 
377 
447 
570 
282 
224 
467 
240 
532 
283 
583 
528 
174 
297 
309 
77 
189 
270 
120 
458 
325 
136 
S02 
306 
84 
120 
»5 
213 
193 
264 
489 
439 



Ye banks and braes and streams Burns 

Ye banks and braes o'bonnie Doon Burns 

Ye happy birds that hop Mary F. Beets 

Ye who listen to stories told Anon 

Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the. ...Bryant 

Y'e workers in God's vineyard Anon 

Year after vear with a glad Mor.u A. Barr 

Y'es! he knows the way is dreary Harergal 

Yea, I was living to myself, was dead .4non 

Yes' Jack Brown was a splendid fellow Anon 

Yesterday when 1 said, "Thy will. Anon 

Y'ou came to us once. O... Maria L. Eve 

You gave on the way a pleasant smile. ...Anon 

Y'ou have only one mother, my boy Anon 

You lav a wreath on murdered.... Tom Taylor 

You may envy the joys of the farmer Anon 

You may sing of the mountains .4non 

You weary, .vou say. with Mahel Ashenfelter 

Yoimg Agnes stood before Ellen Murry 

Y'oung friends, to whom life's early Anon 

Your craft best thrives where D. S. Warner 

You're longing to work for the M^■!^■r Anon 

You're starting, my boy, on lif-i's An)n 



309 
320 
108 
271 
110 
541 
312 
405 
496 
88 
49s 
1S6 
201 
570 
319 
271 
425 
433 
377 
557 
3S9 
529 
36» 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



599 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Some of the poems in this book were selected from periodicals which did not 
ascribe any autliorship, the editors using merely the word "selected." These along 
witli those poems which are genuinely anonymous, make up the great number which 
appear without the author's name, and which are therefore classed as anonymous in 
the indexes. 



Abide with Me Henry F. Lyte 4»1 

Abraham Lincoln Tom Taylor 319 

Abram anil Zimri Ctoreiicc Cook 59 

Absalom. -V- P- TTiiKs 61 

Across the River Lucy Larcom 513 

Acrostic, An ~ Anon 585 

Adam to Eve iliUon 255 

Adam's Morning H.vmn in Paradise iliUon 412 

Address to the Ocean B. Coniwall 125 

After a Summer Shower A. Xorton 111 

After the Battle D. 8. Warner 349 

Afton Water Bums 89 

Again.'it a Thorn Anon 383 

Agnes the Martvr Ellen Murray 377 

Aim of Life. The P. J. Bailey 227 

"All for Jesus!" — Do We Mean it? 

ilrs. E. E. TTUliams 523 

All Forgiven Jennie C. Rutty 430 

All in All to Me D. 8. Warner 447 

All the War Clara 31. Brooks 501 

All the Way My Savior Leads Me..Fann!/ Cronby 417 

Alone Eugene E. Clark 79 

Alone - Anno K. Thomas 518 

Alone with Jesus C. W. Kaylor 488 

Altar. The George Herbert 584 

Altar of Prayer. The Anon 425 

Always in the Way Anon 24 

Always Remembered Jennie Mast 463 

America S. F, fitnith 151 

American Flag. The J. R. Drake 140 

American Independence A. B. Street 141 

Among Wisconsin Pines XelUe Olson 97 

"And a Child Shall Lead Them"....B. E. Rexfori 81 

Angel of Patience. The Whittier 450 

Angel Watchers Rosa V. Jeffrey 299 

Another Tear Havergal 490 

Another Tear R. F. Littledale 334 

Answered Prayers .4non 441 

Anthracite A. R. Fulton 112 

Anticipations Bryant 244 

Antiquity of Freedom. The Bryant 144 

Apple-Blossoms Carleton 79 

April Whitlier 129 

Arcana of Nature, The Mary Finch 115 

Are the Children at Home ?.... J/ar(;aret Songster 298 

Arise and Shine. O Zion R. Rothman 481 

Arrow and the Song. The Longfellow 196 

As a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters 

Thomas Moore 198 

Ashamed of Jesus ! Joseph Grigg 405 

Asleep in Jesus Mrs. M. Mackay 510 

Assurance Anon 464 

At a Mother's Grave F. W. Hutt 291 

At Home in God „ Madame Guyon 414 

At Rest H. E. Nothomb 296 

At the Close of the Year 1906 Jennie Mast 342 

August Gay Waters 132 

Autumn Mary J. Helphingstine 572 

Autumn Clinton A. Herwick 135 

Autumn Longfellow 136 

Autumn John Rowland 135 

Autumn Isaac W. Sanborn 134 

Autumn D. .S. TTomer 135 

Autumn Days Charles E. Orr 132 

Autumn Dreams if. C. Brown 136 

Autumn Evening. The .J. J. MrOirr 134 

Autumn Leaves D. 8. Warner 334 

Autumn Woods. The Anon 134 



Babe of Bethlehem, The Hubert M. Skinner 353 

Baby's Hands Anon 562 

Babyhood —J. O. Holland 30 

Babylon ™ Tennyson 57 

Babylon is Fallen Anon 387 

Back to the Blessed Old Bible D. O. Teasley 348 



Baclislider, The C. W. Naylor 382 

Banl^s o' Doon. The Burns 320 

Baitism. The Annie M. Abey 397 

Barefoot Boy, The Whitlier 560 

Battle of Life. The Anon 564 

Be a Woman Edward Brooks 255 

Be Kind to Father Anon 561 

Be Kind to the Loved Ones at Home Anon 23 

Be not Content Ella IT'fteeier Il'iicoj 215 

Be not Weary Mavergal 465 

Be Patient Anon 463 

Be Ready All Anon 438 

Be Strong Adelaide A. Procter 453 

Be Strong, My Soul, in God Anon 469 

Be Swift Anon 206 

Be True Anon 557 

Beacon, The Thomas Moore 124 

Bearing Life's Burdens Phoebe Cory 333 

Beautiful W. A. Bixlcr 103 

Beautiful Snow, The Anon 280 

Beautiful Snow, The Anno K. Thomas 98 

Beautiful Spring Daniel 8. Warner 123 

Beautiful Sunset Eva M. Wray 102 

Beautiful Things .4non 1 05 

Beauty is not Purity Isabel C. Byrum 196 

Bedtime Kiss, The Anon 33 

Before the Cross James Allen 430 

Before the Storm C. W, Naylor 118 

Before the Sun Goes Down Anon 1S)5 

Behind the Scenes Mattie Gergen 225 

Believer's Privilege, The Anon 426 

Bells. The Poe S12 

Beneath the Surface J^etiie L. Berghouse 203 

Benediction. A .4non 431 

Benediction. The Llewellyn Morrison 406 

Bereavement Browning 310 

Best Life, The Adelbert F. Caldwell 175 

Best We Can. The Eben E. Rexfori 176 

Better Part, The Eva M. Wray 340 

Better Than Gold.-. Mrs. J. M. Winton 218 

Better Things George McDonild 196 

Beyond An-)n 442 

Be.vond Toda.v Anon 1 04 

Bird with the Broken Wing, The-.H. Butterworth 284 

Birthday Verses .^v. P. Willis 30 

Blessed are They that Mourn Bryant 313 

Blessed is the Man Whom Thou Chasteneth 

Sir Robert Grant 356 

Blessed Nation. The Georgia Elliott 427 

Blessing of Song. The Anon 223 

Blessing from Heaven Emma I. Cosion 485 

Blest be the Tie that Binds John Fawrett 427 

Blind — Deaf — Deliverance Eva M. ITrov 547 

Blind Man's Testimony. The John Hay 349 

Blind Men and the Elephant, The J. O. Saxe 586 

Blind Old Milton. The Elizabeth Howell 351 

Blue and the Gra.v, The F. M. Finch 156 

Bond of Perfectness. The D. 9. Warner 431 

Book My Mother Read. The Dwight Williams 49 

Book of the New Year, The Emily J. Bugbee 576 

Books of the Bible ,4non 582 

Boots of a Household, The Anon 576 

Boy Who Helps His Mother, The Anon 571 

Boy Jesus. The Anon 568 

Boy's Promise. A Anon 576 

Brave Kate Shelley's Heroism Mrs. M. Rayne 143 

Bravest Battle. The Anon 39 

Break. Break. Break Tennyson 122 

Breakers are Ahead, The O. F. Linn 546 

Brevity of Life Fron<-i» Queries 588 

Bridal Song, The Jfr«. M. Crawford 89 

Bride of Christ. The Cloro If. Brooks 4S4 

Bridge. The Longfellow 234 

Brief Description of Hell. A Jennie Mast 353 

Bright and Yet Brighter Charlotte Murray 458 

Brilliants Anon 500 

Brink of the Grave. The Anon 519 



600 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



Broadcast TUy Seed Anon 534 

Brook, The Anna K. Thomas :10 

Builders, The Longfellow 241 

Building upon the Sand Elisa Cook 222 

Burden of Sorrow. The Anon 297 

Burial of Moses, The Mrs. C. F. Alexander 53 

Burning of Chicago, The Carleton 71 



Calrary Mrs, D. Jaques 434 

Cardinal Wolsey, on Being Cast off by King 

Henry VIII Shakespeare 251 

Castaway. The Jean Ingeloiv 282 

Cataract of Lodore, The Southey 585 

Celia Daniel 8. Warner 2»9 

Chacibered Nautilus, The Holmes 123 

Changed Cross, The Mrs. Charles Hobart 497 

Changed Hymn, A Anon 420 

Changeling, The Lowell 195 

Charge of the Light Brigade Tennyson 155 

Charity James Montgomery 477 

Charity Eva M. TTray 478 

Chastisement E. A. Reardon 444 

Cheer Up Celia Thaj-ler 220 

Cherish Kindly Feelings Mrs. M. A. Kidder 563 

Cherished Memories Lucy M. Lewis 42 

Chickens, The Anon 502 

Chihl of a King. The Hattie E. Biiell 418 

Child of Earth, The Caroline E. Xorton 290 

Child's Fancy, A Mrs. Anna R. Henderson 181 

Child's Last Smile. The Mrs. M. Crawford 309 

Child's Mirror, The Anon 563 

Child's Victory, A W. A. Bixler 577 

Childhood Anna K. Thomas 574 

Children. The Charles Dickenson 551 

Children Longfellow 569 

Children's Hour, The Longfellow 503 

Chihlren in the Household J. T. Trowbridge 20 

Chisel-Work Anon 503 

Chosen in Affliction John E. Roberts 408 

Christ Anon 414 

Christ is Born Myra T. Barrett 527 

Christ-Child. Tlie Cora IF. Hayes 359 

Christ's Entrance into Jerusalem....^. P. Willis 09 

Christ's Humanity Maria B. Lindesay 402 

Christian Conflict Horatius Bonar 432 

Christian Mother, The John W. Boxell 250 

Christian's Wants, A John Newham 493 

Christian's Warfare, The Anon 467 

Christlike Anon 441 

Christmas Samuel Finley 332 

Christmas Gifts Havergal 339 

Christmas Hymn Anon 398 

Christmas Hymn, A Reginald Heber 396 

Church Has One Foundation, The 

Samuel Stone and C. W. Xaylor 481 

Church of God, The Havergal 482 

Church Triumphant. The D. S. Warner 484 

Church Walking with the World. The 

Matilda C. Edwards 372 

Cities of the Plain. The Whittier 64 

City of God, The Francis T. Palgravc 343 

Cleaning House Anon 210 

Clear the Way Charles MacKay 285 

Clear Vision, The Whittier 105 

Closing Scene, The Thomas B. Read 308 

Closing Year, The Anon 333 

Closing Year, The George D. Prentice 242 

Columbus Joaquin Miller 108 

"Come Unto Me" Anon 545 

"Come Ye Apart" Anon 451 

Coming Anon 4.34 

Communion Anon 443 

Complimint Your Wife /. J. A. Miller 24 

Conquered at Last Maria L. Ere 186 

Conscience and Future Judgment .inon 232 

Ponsecration •■*""" 500 

Consolation Broicnin!; 314 

Consolation Lucy M. Lewis 458 

Consolation Jennie Mast 455 

Consolation in Sickness A. M. Toplady 447 

Content and Discontent Richard C. Trench 464 

Content to Go or Stay O. F. Linn 522 

Convict's Christmas Eve. The Carleton 278 

Convict's Plea. A Anon 282 

Correct Order, The Anon 165 

Country Life, The Robert HerHck 209 

Course of the World, The James B. Branam 548 

Cover Them Over Carleton 148 

Cradle Hymn, A Isaac Watts 505 

Crossing the Bar Tenni/son 252 



Crowded Street. The Anon 223 

Crucilixion, The Whittier 358 

Crusades of Hell, The D. S. Warner 367 

Cruse that Faileth not, The .4«ort 520 

Cry from Foreign Fields, A Anon 528 

Cry of the Children. The Browning 280 

Cry of the Heathen, The Anon 530 

Cry of the Mother, The Lizzie Hardy 40 

"Cumbered about Much Serving" Anon 497 

Curfew Must not Ring Tonight .inon 65 

Curious Literary Composition Anon 584 

Cypress-Tree of Ceylon, The Whittier 251 



Daily Strength Havergal 402 

Dan's Wife Mrs. Kate T. Wood 27 

Dare and Do Anon 200 

David's Grief for His Child .V. P. Willis 58 

Dawn Richard W. Gilder 106 

Day by the Sea, A William Baxter 121 

Day is Done, The Longfellow 169 

De Massa ob de Sheepfol' Sallie McClean 386 

Dealing with Trouble .inon 213 

Dear Home Faces Whittier 167 

Death .inon 514 

Death, The Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford 314 

Death of a Young Girl, The....TriH)am Burleigh 304 

Death of an Infant .inon 302 

Death of Gaudentis Anon 144 

Death of Nathan Hale, The Eugene Geary 154 

Death of the Flowers, The Bryant 106 

Death the Leveler James Shirley 227 

Death of the Good .Man Robert Blair 311 

Deathless Heart, The Paul H. Hayne 157 

Deeds, not Words Anon 337 

Delight in God Only Francis Quarles 400 

Denver Fannie I. Sherrick 323 

Description of a Storm at Sea .inon 124 

Deserted Village, The Oliver Ooldsmith 65 

Destinies of Lite Whittier 177 

Destruction of the Assyrians Lord Byron 57 

Devotion Thomas Moore 491 

Did You Do it for Jesus? Anon 527 

Diligence Emma I. Coston 437 

Disappointment Anon 504 

Disappointment Havergal 459 

Do not Complain James B. Branam 466 

Do Something Today Anon 529 

Do What You Feel You Should Anon 174 

Do Your Best Anon 551 

Don't Deepen the Wrinkles Anon 224 

Don't Forget the Old Folks Win T. Hale 36 

Don't Let the Song Go Out of Your Life 

Kate R. Stiles 166 

Don't Marry a Man to Reform Him .-Inon 285 

Door Mat. A Anon 502 

Dream. A Anon 168 

Dreamer, The Anon 190 

Droi>ping a Seed .4«o» 534 

Drunkard's Alphabet, The .inon 281 

Duties of Today, The Anon 101 

Dying Alchemist, The .V. P. Willis 56 

Dying Christian, The Charles Currie 516 

Dying Hymn, A Alice Gary 515 

Dying Mother, The Robert Pollock 302 

Dying Wife, The Anon 295 



Earth AfM. Emihj B. TTafford 235 

Easter Ode. An Anna K. Thomas 405 

Easter Wings George Herbert 583 

Ebb and Flow Susan Coolidge 416 

Elijah's Interview Thomas Campbell 377 

Elegy in a Country Churchyard Thomas Gray 237 

Emigrant's Wish. The Anon 33 

Emptiness of Riches, The Edward Young 209 

Empty Lives, The .inon 187 

End Will Tell, The R. L. Austin 216 

Endurance Elizabeth .i. Allen 206 

English Student's Experience. An. -Vo(f*c Qergen 361 

Eternal Yeals. The Anon 435 

Eternity D. O. Teasley 335 

Eternity Daniel S. Warner 354 

Evening Bells. The Thomas Moore 245 

Evening Hour. The Anon 161 

Evening Hour of Prayer, The Charles E. Orr 487 

Evening Light C, H. Dewey 387 

Evening on the River Longfellow 49 

Evening Prayer W. .i. Bixler 552 

Evening Thoughts Mrs. Emily H. Hafford 520 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



001 



Evening Time Best Mrs. Lou S. Bedford 227 

Evening Wind, The Bryant 102 

Eventlcle Urn. G. IT. Tatro 96 

Evergreen Mountains of Life, The J. G. Clark 507 

Everlasting Joy D. 8. Warrier 410 

Everlasting Memorial, The Huratius Botiar 541 

Every Day Elizabeth Akers Allen 171 

Every Day Eva Best 208 

Example of Alliteration, An .4»oh 584 

ExbortatloB to Prayer William Cowper 400 



Face the Sun „ Ation 178 

Face This Sad World with a Smile.. .J. IT. Byers 440 

Fair Zion C. W. Xaylor 4.S4 

Faitb Antia K. Thomafi 477 

Faith Daniel S. Warner 479 

Faith and Reason Li5zie York Case 395 

Faith and Hope Rembrandt Peale 244 

Faithful Promises Haverijal 433 

Fall of Jerusalem, The Tennyson 55 

Fall of the Oak, The Oeorge Hill 107 

Falls of Niagara. The John G. C. Brainard 100 

Fame. Wealth, Life, Death TT. W. Skeal 248 

Farewell. The ir;i«()cr 65 

Farewell Greeting Jennie Mast 321 

Farewell. Old Mill Anon 207 

Farewell to the Kitchen Ruth C. Monteith 266 

Farmer Gray Anon 271 

Farmer's Wife, The Paul Hamilton Hayne 206 

Farm-Yard Song J. T. Trowbridge 272 

"Father, Take My Hand" Henry X. Cnbb 402 

Favorite Path. A Richard Wilton 220 

"Fear TIiou Not" Anon 454 

Fellowship of Toil, The .Inoii 268 

Field, The Anon 532 

Fight Fresh Battles Anon 202 

Finding Fault .4/io« 207 

First Settler's Story, The Carleton 181 

First Shall be Last ; the Last, First. The 

Mattie Oeraen 393 
Firstfrnits of Them that Slept. The..ff. Rothman 375 

Five Little Foxes Anon 571 

Flight of Time, The J. G. Percival 230 

Flight of Toulh, The «. H. Stoddard 227 

Flood of Years. The Bryant 229 

Flowers Longfellow 103 

Folded Hands Anon 315 

Folded Hands Anoii 316 

Follow Me Anon 545 

Follow Me Jennie ilast 468 

Followers of Them .4nou 362 

Fool's Prayer. The E. R. gill 53 

Footmen and Horses Mabel Ashenfelter 433 

Footsteps of Angels Longfelloic 246 

For the Children Anon 505 

Forest, The Alice Cary 98 

Forest Hymn. A Bryant 113 

Forest Trees Anon 572 

Forget — Remember .4 Hon 221 

Forgive and Forget .S'. E. Gordon 193 

Forgive and Forget Charles Strain 223 

Forgiveness Frances B. M. Brotherson 437 

Forgiveness Whit tier 199 

Four Kisses, The George if. Vickers 217 

Four Mottoes Alice Freeman Palmer 192 

Four Wishes, The Hiss A. Cutter 204 

Four-leaf Clovers Anon 205 

Freeman, The Coicper 143 

Fresh Springs Httvergal 455 

Friends of Long Ago Anon 44 



Garden of the Gods. The William Alien Butler 324 

Gamer the Beautiful .4nna R. Henderson 209 

Gather with Care Anon 207 

Gems Mary B. Howe 124 

Gentleman. A Anon 575 

Gentlemanly Boy. A Anon 570 

German Trust Song, A Lampertus 500 

Getbsemane -4non 384 

Give Ella Wheeler Wilcox 218 

Give Them the Flowers Now Anon 189 

"Give Ye Them to Eat" Clara M. Brooks 524 

Giving and Living Anon 352 

Glad Homeland. The Anon 189 

Go Bury Thy Sorrow Anon 453 

Go to 'Thy Rest Ifrs. Lydia H. Slgourney 290 

God Der::haven 400 

God Everywhere in Nature Carlos Wilcox 109 



God Holds the Key „Anon 421 

God is Ever Good .4non 40'j 

God is Everywhere Anon 404 

God is Love John Bowring 405 

God is Love James B. Branam 341 

God Knoweth Mrs Mary G. Brainard 502 

Goil Knoweth Best J. Grant Anderson 497 

God the Provider Havergal 407 

God Understands Anon 457 

God Wants Your All O. F. Linn 440 

God's Acre Longfelloic 226 

God's Answer Eva Williams niaione 505 

Goil's Anvil JuUm Stum 498 

God's Care Georgia C. Elliott 518 

God's Dwelling-Place Anno K. Thomas 360 

God's Forgetfulness Irish Fartory Girl 336 

<;od's Handiwork Anna K. Thomas 520 

God's Language E. G. Allanson 117 

tJod's Love Saxe Holm 393 

Go<i's Love and Wisdom Anon 444 

God's Loving Care Charles E. Orr 446 

God's Majesty B. E. Warren 411 

God's Mysterious Way William Cowper 455 

God's Sentinels Anon 97 

(Jod's Universal Love -Vellie Olson 535 

God's Way is Best Anon 445 

God's Way is Best C. W. Naylor 505 

Gods Will for Is Anon 188 

God's Works Declare His Greatness,.,. J. Addison 401 

Going to School Anon 577 

Gone Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford 307 

Gone Home Jennie Mast 391 

Gone to the Grave Reginald Heber 297 

Gooil Cheer Anon 172 

Good Counsail Geoffrey Chaucer 587 

Good Old Grandmother, The Anon 294 

Good Thing to Do, A Sydney Dayrc 577 

Goo<lBye Anon 83 

Good-by, God Bless You Eugene Field 164 

Good-by. Old Rockies Onnjcl S. Warner 112 

Goodly Heritage, A Whittier 400 

Goodness of God, The Jennie Mast 398 

Grace and Providence William Coicper 404 

Gracious Answer, The Henry K. Cobb 462 

Gradation Josiah Gilbert Holland 242 

Grandma's Home Anon 49 

Grandma's Surprise Anon 570 

Grandpapa Maria Mulock Craik 29 

Gratitude Jennie Mast 438 

Graves of a Household, The Felicia Hemans 311 

Greenwood Cemetery ITtHiom Wallace 326 

Greenwood Shrift, The Robert Southey •')4 

Grindstone of Fate .Anon 567 



Hand that Rocks the Cradle. ThcTT. R. Wcillacc 2.54 

Ilaiipy New Year. A .inon 442 

Hard Luck Eniti Carl Aurin 173 

Hark ! Those Holy Voices John Cav:ood 409 

Hate of the Bowl Anon 275 

Have Courage, My Boy. to Say No Anon 569 

Have Faith in the Boy Anon 573 

Have We Done What We Could?....Jfnn!e ITilson 532 

He Cares for All Claio M. Brooks 571 

"He Careth for You" Anon 463 

He Giveth His Loved Ones Sleep Anoii 385 

He Hath Done it Havergal 421 

He Knoweth Your Need S. B. McManus 459 

He Leadeth Me .4non 424 

He Leadeth Me ./. H. Gihnore 423 

Hend and the Heart, The John O. Saxe 219 

Healing of the Daughter of Jairus....A'. P. Willis 68 

Heart's Choice. The H. A. Lavely 217 

Heavenly City. The Beii* Staples .508 

Heavenly Treasure Anon 378 

Heavier the Cross Schmolke 449 

Helping Hand, A Anon 193 

Her Name the Countersign Margaret Eytinge 78 

Hereafter Anon 308 

Hereafter Anon 343 

Heritage, The JjOwell 269 

Heroism Lowell 151 

Hiding Anon 573 

Highland Mary Burns 309 

Himself Anon 417 

His Letters Georgia C. Elliott 311 

"His Majesty" Anon 361 

His Sweet Will F. W. Fabcr 414 

His Unfailing Love Jennie Mast 413 

His Voice I Hear Jennie Mast 431 

His Wa.v Clara M. Brooks 485 



'602 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



Ho ! Bonny Boy Walter M. Hazeltine 574 

Holiness Anon 398 

Holy Fellowship Daniel S. Varner 427 

Holy Scripture Anon 377 

Holy Spirit. The Mrs Haworth 357 

Home Anon 39 

Home Robert Bland 23 

Home Again Abhie C. M'Keeier 35 

Home Concert, The ilary D. Brine 35 

Home in the Heart, A Eli::a Cook 24 

Home Lite Mrs. 31. .i. Kidder 40 

Home Picture, A Franeis Dana Gage 263 

Home .Song. A .inon 36 

Home Song Longfellow 31 

Home Sweet Home John Howard Payne 23 

Homely Counsel on Care, A Mark Guy Pearse 202 

Homes of the Cliff-dwellers Stanley Wood 320 

Hope Anon 479 

Hope Hartley Coleridge 480 

Hope Havergal 445 

Hour of Death, IChe.-.. Felicia Dorothea Hemans 292 

Hour with Whittier, An Phebe A. Holier 325 

House anil Home Anon 253 

Household Fairy, The Anon 570 

"How are the Mighty Fallen" Clara Brooks 432 

How Easy it is) Anon 203 

How Firm a Foundation George Keith 454 

How Friends are Won Mollie S. Runcorn 90 

How Gayly Sinks the Gorgeous Sun....renn!/son 510 

How Readest Thou? Anon 430 

How Soon We Lose Them Anon 25 

How to Live Horativs Bonar 242 

Human Cry, The Tennyson 409 

Humanity William Cotcper 235 

Humility _ Charles E. Orr 477 

Humility _ Daniel 8. Warner 47S 

Humming Birds Nellie Olson 104 

Hymn of Nature W. O. B. Pcabody 411 

Hymn of Resignation, A T, W. Williams 313 

Hymn of the Night Longfellow 101 

Hymn of Trust Holmes 422 

Hymn to the Night- Wind Anon 115 



I am Glad Jdary J. Helphingsline 431 

I Can not Turn the Key and My Bairn Out- 
side Anon 33 

I Could not Do Without Thee Havergal 494 

I Didn't Think Anon 220 

I Gave .My Life for Thee Havergal 399 

1 Have no Mother Now ,4non 304 

I Love You J, w. Phelps 91 

I Need Thee, Lord C. W. Naylor 486 

I Ought to Love My Savior. D. S. Warner 429 

1 Will Fear no Evil Horatius Bonar 500 

I Will Pray /. F. McLeister 480 

I Would not Live Alway W. A. Muhlenberg 509 

Iceberg. The Anon 201 

I'd Bather Mrs. Martha Wintermiite 164 

If Anon 283 

If I Knew Anon 276 

If I May Help Anon 240 

If I Should Die Tonight Anon 215 

If We Could Know A. R. Fulton 165 

If We Knew Anon 202 

If We Knew Kipling 195 

If We Would Anon 535 

Immortal Life. The Anon 510 

Immortal Spirit, The Thomas Campbell 500 

Immortality William Baxter 515 

Immortality Richard Henry Dana 513 

Immortality of the Soul Shakespeare 516 

In Heavenly Love Abiding Anna L. Waring 456 

In SchoolDays Whittier 89 

In the Dawning of the Morning-STeilie Woadworth 516 

In the Firelight Eugene Field 47 

In the Heart Anon 169 

In the Way inim 28 

In Winter Days Helen M. Richardson 137 

Indecision Frank Walcott Hutt 171 

Independence Bell Anon 147 

Indian Hymn .4.non 587 

India's Call for the Gospel Anna K. Thomas 529 

Indirection Richard Realf 203 

Infinite. The W. H. Ogborn 211 

Infinity of God, The Havergal 402 

Influence Alice Clawson 214 

Influence M. M. DeLeris 198 

Inkstand Battle, The S. W. Pass 2S4 

Innocence Anon 480 

Innocence D. .9. Warner 470 



Innocent Child and Snow-white Flower 

Whittier 563 

Inquiry, The Charles Mackay 228 

Into All the World Mrs. Anna M. Hubbard 536 

Is Lite Worth Living? .ilfred Austin 236 

Is Not This the Land of Beulah? .4non 419 

Is There Naught that Satisfies ?....£ia M. Wray 390 
It is an Emblem of Glory. ...,/a»ies Montgomery 141 

It Matters Much Anon 193 

It Takes So Little Ida Goldsmith Morris 186 



Jephthah's Daughter A'. P. Willis 62 

Jesus Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford 343 

Jesus All Sutficient Anon 422 

Jesus Alone Clara M. Brooks 417 

Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken H. F. Lyte 487 

Jesus, I'll Go Through with Thee Anon 503 

Jesus Pleads Mattie Gergen 542 

Jesus Prays William B. Tappan 37S 

Jesus Weeping over Jerusalem Anon 381 

John, the Beloved Anon 358 

Joy and Peace in Believing William Cowper 425 

Jo.vs that Sinners Know Not D. 8. Warner 383 

Joys of Heaven Xancy A. W. Priest 511 

Joyful Hours Anon 429 

Judge Not Adelaide A. Procter 163 

June Bryant 130 

June Lowell 130 

Just a Menti.;>n of the Seasons Anon 126 

Just for Today .r. Anon 495 

Just Like a Man Anon 29 

Just Suppose These Things Phoebe Cary 559 

Just This Minute Anon 167 



Katie Lee and Willie Gray Anon 75 

Keep Steady Anon ISO 

Kindly Word. The Anon 194 

Kissed His .Mother Eben E. Rexford 574 

Kisses Elizabeth Akers Allen 78 

Kissing the Rod Riley 170 

Kneel at No Human Shrine A. F. Kent 250 

Know Thyself Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney 221 



Ladder of St. .Augustine, The Longfelloic 233 

Lady Hildegarde. The Anon 364 

Last -Call, The Jennie Mast 543 

Last Rose of .Summer, The Anon 189 

Laugh. Little Fellow Wilbur D. Xeshitt 564 

Lazarus Jennie Mast 371 

Leaf by Leaf Anon 194 

Lean Hard Anon 452 

Learn a Little Every Day Anon 214 

Learn to Give Anon 435 

Left Behind -. Jennie Mast 365 

Leseon. A /. L. Lewis 162 

Lesson of Content, The Priscilla Leonard 161 

Lesson of the Rose, The Grace P. Bronaugh 185 

Let Creation Praise the Creator.. ..B. E. Warren 412 
Let the Little Ones Come Unto Me.J/rs. J. Luke 505 

Letter in Rhyme, A Elsie E. Egermeier 323 

Life Anon 190 

Life Mrs. H. A. Dewing 583 

Life C. W. Naylor 241 

Life Anna K. Thomas 363 

Life From Death Horatus Bonar 512 

Life Garden, A Mabel Earle 521 

Life or Death J. Grant .indcrson 340 

Life's Answer Dean of Canterbury 416 

Life's Fleeting Da.v Ciara M. Brooks 331 

Life's Golden Goblet Nellie Olson 240 

Life's Lesson Anon 464 

Life's Mirror Anon 179 

Life's M.vster.v Clara M. Brooks 2.39 

Life's Parados Shaler G. Hillycr 180 

Life's Possibilities Anon 439 

Light and Shade Havergal 450 

Lily and Willie Daniel S. Warner 308 

Lines on the Death of a Friend. ..1/arf7(7ref Scott 83 
Lines on the Death of a iyister.. Charles Sprague 291 
Lines Reproving Some Sectarian Idolatry 

Daniel S. Warner 399 
Lines to a White Chr.vsanthemum. . .4 j(Ha Thomas 111 

Liquor Bar. The Anon 282 

Little Brown Hands Mary H. Krout 270 

Little By Little Anon ,556 

Little Face. .K - .4jion 569 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



003 



Little Feet Florence Percy 184 

Little Freckled Girl -Veilie Olson 501 

Little Goldenhnir Anon 532 

Little Grave. Tbe -inon 306 

Little Kindnesses Anon 201 

Little Tilings... Anon 215 

Little Things Lorain McLain 224 

Little Things Thomas Davis 161 

Little Things Jennie Mast 176 

Little Tomboy Nellie Olson 555 

"Little While. A" Dtcight Williams 452 

Living for Others Charles E. Orr 221 

Living Temple. The Holmes 104 

Living Waters Caroline Spencer 175 

Long Ago. The Benjamin F. Taylor 243 

I.ongi-st Day. The Ellen T. Fowler 83 

Loolc Ahead Anon 176 

Look Aloft Jonathan Lawrence 457 

Look Away Annie M. Aheil 464 

Look Up E. Craft Cobern 437 

Lord Is Risen. Tbe Thomas Hastings 3S5 

Lord, Speak to Me Hatergal 520 

Lord Will Provide. Tbe Mrs. M. A. IT. Cook 453 

Lord Will Provide. Tbe John Xewton 450 

Lord's Prayer Illustrated, Tbe .Inon 375 

Lost Bird on Shipboard Fred Woodrow 120 

Lost Day. The L. H. Sigourney 197 

Love Thomas Kibble Hervey Tt 

Love and Laughter Anon 215 

Love and Pet Me Now T. B. Larimore 187 

Love in Nature Charles E. Orr 116 

Love Indestructible Sonthey 478 

Love is Freedom's Law D, B. Warner 344 

Love Lightens Labor Anon 263 

Love of God. Tbe Anon 408 

Love of God, The J. Grant Anderson 351 

Love of God. The W. J. Henry 420 

Loved Too Late Mary A. Barr 312 

Lowly Heart. The Anna L. Waring 493 

Lucky Call. The Anon 37 

Lucy Moratus Bonar 294 

H 

Maiden Martyr. The Anon 70 

Maidenhood JjOngfellow 553 

Make Childhood Sweet Anon 37 

Make This a Day Wilbur D. Nesbitt 440 

Make Your Mark David Barker 570 

Making Poetry Havergal 178 

Man ; Edward Toung 235 

.Man in the Boy, The Anon 553 

Man's Answer, A „ Anon 86 

Mans Fall O. F. Linn 339 

Mara Mrs. ilattte Bailey 457 

March Bryant 128 

March Winds Mrs. it. J. E. Crawford 127 

Married for Love Anon 88 

Martyred Heroes „ William Cowper 340 

Master Is Coming. Tbe Anon 366 

Master's Hand. The H. Snso 420 

Master's Healing Touch. The Anon 352 

Master's Questions. Tbe Anon 533 

Master's Touch. The Horatius Bonar 505 

Maternal Love Marchioness De Spadara 256 

Maternity ^non 38 

Mattliew XIV-XXIII Havergal 383 

Matthew XXVI-XXX Havergal 37S 

Maud Muller ir*i((ier 91 

May Leigh Hunt 129 

May to April Philip Frenau 129 

Me and Mine Josephine Pollard 268 

Measuring tbe Baby Anon 554 

Memorial Charles E. Orr 301 

Memories J. .S. Mills 214 

Memory James Abram Garfield 171 

Memory of the Heart. The Daniel Webster 90 

Mercy Shakespeare 476 

Message of Love, A Anon 302 

Midnight Lama 8. R. McCarthy 101 

Midnight Tennyson 99 

Millionaire and Barefoot Boy C. T. Lanlgan 562 

Minister's Daughter. The Whlttier 344 

Ministry of Love. The Anna ^hipton 487 

Ministry of Song. The Havergal 539 

Miracle of Cana. The Fred E. Brooks 346 

Missionary fall. The Anon 526 

Missionary Hymn „ Reginald Heber 538 

Misspent Time _ 8tr Aubrey DeVere 178 

Monosyllable Poem. A Addison Alexander 586 

Monument for the Soldiers, A Hiley 149 

Moral Alchemy .....Horace f^mith 219 



More and Less Anon 522 

Morning Among the Hills J. Q. Percival 109 

Morning Gifts Anon 187 

Morning Prayer. A Charles E. Orr 490 

Mother and Her Dying Boy, The Anon 302 

Mother is Dead Gaylord Davidson 293 

Mother is Resting Anon 308 

Mother to Her Dying Child, A..Mrs M. Crawford 316 

Mother's Good-by, The .4non 575 

Mother's Growing Old Anon 31 

Mother's Influence, A A. H. Hallam 255 

Mother's Love, A „ = Anon 75 

Mother's Love, A Felicia D. Hemans 253 

Mother's Love. A Mrs. Margaret LeGrange 250 

Mother's Mending Basket Mrs. M. A. Kidder 28 

Mother's Trust. The Anon 374 

Mount Ilcxid Edward Sheffield 119 

Mountain and the Squirrel, The Emerson 559 

Mountain Stream. The Eva M. Wray 117 

Mourner's Tear. Tbe Thomas Moore 402 

Mozart's Requiem Rufiis Dawes 298 

Mr. Skeptical's E.\perience Anon 379 

Music B. E. Warren 363 

Mutability J. H. Ashabranner 226 

My Ain Countrie Mrs. Mary L. Demarest 507 

My Baby .Annie Russell 552 

My Beautiful Secret Anon 422 

"My Beloved" J. O. Deck 403 

My Child John Pierpont 292 

My Country James Montgomery 146 

My Father's Voice in Prayer. May H. Cottage 41 

My Happy Home .inon 39 

My Heart's Stor.v Anon 428 

My Jesus, as Thou Wilt (Translation) 

Miss BorthwiCk 499 

My Little Wife Anon 28 

My Lord and I Anon 421 

My Lost Youth Longfellow 46 

My Lover Sarah E. P. McLean 80 

My Mother's Bible George P. Morris 41 

My Mother's Hands Anon 28 

My Mother's Picture Williai7i Cowper 303 

My Mother's Prayers /, IT. Byers 336 

My Mother's Voice A^. P. Willis 47 

My Neighbor's Boy Marianne Fannington 575 

.My Old Bible Edmund Pillifant 358 

My Prayer B. T. Turner 494 

My Precious Secret. Jennie Mast 419 

My Shepherd Anon 419 

My Soldier Love Mrs. U. J. E. Crawford 26 

My Soul is Satisfied D. 8. Warner 426 

My Times are in Thy Hands Anon 502 

My Treasure James B. Branam 424 

My Window Ivy Mary Mapes Dodge 428 

My Work Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford 501 



Name in the Sand. A H. F. Gould 519 

Nameless Dead, The Thomas Hood 297 

Nature B. E. Tl'orren 118 

Nature and Faith .inon 513 

Nature's Devotion D. S. Warner 397 

Nay, Speak No III Anon 221 

Nearer Home Phoebe Cary 518 

Need of Today, The Anon 306 

New Jerusalem. The Anon 509 

New Jerusalem. The Horatius Bonar 483 

New Leaf, A Anon 188 

New Paul Revere, The Nettie H. Pelham 156 

New-Y'ear, The .V. p. Willis 137 

New-Year's Greeting J). S. Warner 338 

New- Year's Wishes .inon 353 

Night Anon 101 

Nightfall W. W. Ellsworth 119 

No Chil.lren's Graves in China „.A. J. Edison 538 

No C,od K, K. Richardson 410 

No Night Shall he in Heaven Anon 512 

No Place for Boys Anon 32 

"Not As I Will" Helen Bunt Jackson ,504 

Not Knowing inon 445 

Not Lost, but Gone Before J. Montgomery 511 

Not Now, My Child Mrs C. Pennefathe'r 531 

Not One to Spare Anon 25 

Not Tnderstood Thomas Bracken 179 

Not Work but Worry Anon 211 

"Not Worlds on Worlds" John Mason Good 413 

J;"' ■'f'"* Haveraal 380 

Not Yonr Own Haveroal 386 

Nothing is Lost ^^„„ 179 

Nothing Less and Nothing More....W. T. Sleeper 488 
Nothing to Do Anon 538 



604. 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



Nothing to I'ay ! llacergal 545 

November Hartley Coleridge 134 

Now 1 Lay Me Down to Sleep.. J/r«. R. Howiand 566 
Now is the Accepted Time....(7i»fo» .4. Hericick 542 
Nun's Lament, The Horatiiis Bonar 360 



O Chnrch of God, Awake 1 Axchie A. BoHlho 536 

O Love Divine Clara il. Brookt 35U 

O Thou in Whose Presence Joseph Swain 401 

Ocean, The Lord Byron 125 

October H. .4. Lately 134 

October's Bright Blue Weather.. ..He/e/t Jackson 133 

Off tor Slumber Land Anon 32 

Ott in the Stilly Night Thomas Moore 208 

Oh. for a Thousand Tongues Wesley 411 

Oh. Lay Thy Uand in Mine, Dear.. Ceroid Massey 90 

Oh, Sing of His Mighty Love Frank Bottome 425 

Oh! Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud? 

WiUiani Knox 249 

Old Arm Chair, The Eliza Cook 48 

Old Cottage Clock, The .4non 36 

Old Couple, The Anon 38 

Old Ilome, The Howard C. Tripp 42 

Old Ironsides Holmes 145 

Old Man by The Wayside, The Ralph Hoyt 43 

Old Oaken Bucket, The Samuel Woodworth 45 

Old Rye Makes a Speech Anon 281 

Old Ways and the New, The John H. Yates 261 

Old Year Memories Susan E. Gammons 201 

On an Infant's Death Anon 309 

On the Death of My Grandmother Tennyson 301 

On the .Marriage of a Mr. Hope D. S. Warner 582 

On the Old Camp Ground A. B. GiWersleeie 342 

On the Picture of a "Child Tired of Plav" 

N. P. Willis 201 

Once and Now B. B. Warren 422 

One by One Adelaide A. Procter 197 

One Da.v Anon 495 

One Hundred Thousand Souls Lost Every Day 

Anon 529 

One Link Gone Anon 310 

One Little Boy Anon 578 

One Little Hour Anon 438 

One More Day's Work for Jesus.. ..Aiifia Warner 537 

One Step More Anon 449 

One Talent Man, The John L. Shroy 466 

Only a Baby's Grave Margaret M'Rae Lackey 293 

Only a Child F. S. Hatford 656 

Only a Few Short Years 0. F. Linn 518 

Only a Little While W. J. Henry 206 

Only a Moment P. B. Davis 246 

Only a Step Anon 192 

Only a Woman Hester A. Benedict 284 

Only for Thee Anon 487 

Only One Mother Anon 570 

Only Waiting Anon 248 

Opportunity John J. Jngalls 197 

Opportunity Waller Malone 199 

Other Worl.l. The ....Harriet 8. Stoice 514 

Our Absent Darlings Jennie Mast 311 

Our American Women Thomas B. Read 253 

Our Beloved A iton 209 

Our Country's Dead Isaac Bassett Choate 149 

Our Fathers Anon 355 

Our Goal and Glory Lydia M. Millard 152 

Our Lives Anon 245 

Our Mother Anon 37 

Our Mother Anon 574 

Our Mother's Gone Jennie .Vast 315 

Our Own Margaret E. Songster 29 

Our Savior Knows Jennie Mast 465 

Out in the Fields with God Broirning 97 

Out of and Into .4non 416 

Out of the Fold Lorain MrLain 542 

Out of the Way Emma C. Doxcd 277 

Outgrown Julia 0. R. Dorr 84 

Over and Over Again Josephine Pollard 192 

Over the River Nancy A. W. Priest 296 



Palace o' the King William Mitchell -TOS 

Palestine Whittier 322 

Pardoned Jennie Mast 420 

Parting Hour, The Edward Pollock 80 

Parting Words Mrs. Melissa E. Banta 87 

Passing Under the Rod Mary S. B. Dana 384 

Passions. The Tennyson 177 

Past, The Bryant 229 

Pastoral. A A. J. Mimiy 581 



I'atience Anon 565 

Patience with the Living Anon 84 

Patriotism Sir Walter Scott 151 

Paul Revere's Ride Longfellow 153 

I'auper's Death-Bed, The Caroline B. Southey 310 

I'eople's Poet, The .Susie R. O. Clark 324 

Petition Anna K. Thomas 4SS 

I'etritied Fern, The Mary Bolles Branch US 

Picture Fancy Painted, The J. B. Prickett 46 

Pilgrims Wants, The .lao/t 489 

Place of Prayer, The Anon 489 

Planting of the Apple Tree, The Bryant 108 

Pluck Harrison Lee 178 

Plucked Bud, A Anna K. Thomas 313 

Poet and the Children, The Whittier 325 

Poet's Song, The Tennyson 199 

I'ossession Bayard Taylor 78 

Power of the Cross... .4noa 490 

Practical Charity George Crabbe 470 

Praying for Shoes Paul H. Haync 559 

Prayer James B. Branam 492 

Prayer Tennyson 403 

Prayer, A Sylvia Chapin 490 

Prayer, A .4naa K. Thomas 488 

Preacher's Vacation, The .-inon 355 

Precious Gem, A Emma I. Coston 478 

Present, The Adelaide A. Procter 226 

Present Experience W. J, Henry 428 

Present Help, A Anon 458 

Present Life in View of the Future, The 

X. P. Willis 511 

Present Salvation Georgia C. Elliott 415 

Press on Park Benjamin 225 

Price of a Drink, The Josephine Pollard 275 

Primeval Forest, The Longfellow 107 

Princiitle Put to the Test William Coivper 568 

Prizing the Cross .inon 461 

Prodigal Daughter, The Anon 544 

Promised Land, The .Inios E. Flint 507 

Promised Rest, The Lewis A. Salmon 461 

Prospect, The Browning 515 

Psalm of Life, A Longfellow 232 

Pure Bride Restored, The D. S. Warner 374 

Pure Testimony, Tlie Anon 381 

Puritan Lovers, The Anna D. Green 76 

Q 

Quaint Old Cross, A Anon 582 

Query, A Anon 191 

Quite Different Lorain McLain 217 



Race for Life, A J. L. MoUoy 154 

Rain on the Roof Coates Kinney 41 

Rainbow, The Anon 1^5 

Raindrop's Ride, The Anon 562 

Rainy Day, The Longfellow 174 

Real, The ilrs. H. C. Gardner 469 

Reaper and the Flowers, The Longfellow 304 

Rear>er. Awake Jennie Mast 524 

Reaping Anon 175 

Recessional Kipling 147 

Rod Riding Hood Whittier 167 

Redeeming the Time G. D. Oldham 440 

Refiner's Fire. The Anon 499 

Reflections John W. Everett 79 

Reflections on a Battle-fiehl Bryant 142 

Refrain. A Anna K. Thomas 520 

Reliance on God inon 348 

Remember, Boys Make Men Anon 558 

Remembered Jioratius Bonar 537 

Remote Resnlts Tlavergal 46ft 

Rescue the Perishing Fanny J. Crnshy 537 

Resignation Longfellow 295 

Resolution of Ruth Anon 87 

R^st Anon IRS 

Rest B. W. Jiletson 423 

Rest in God \non 466 

Rest in Jesus Hcnr\j Francis Lute 418 

Return. The Anon 34 

Miches F. A. Brininstool 552 

Right Must Win. The Frederieic W. Fahcr 53S 

Risen Lord, The Anon 309 ' 

Robert of Lincoln Bryant 114 

Rock Me to Sleep Elizabeth A. Allen 245 

Rock of Ages Anon 188 

Rock Christ. The Anon 492 

Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.. Kmma Willard 499 

Round of Life. The Alexander Lament 231 

Royal Gorge, The C. G. Ferouson 324 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



605 



Rutuseller's Sign. The Anon 281 

Ruth and Naotul liobert Rothman 382 

S 

Sabbatb, The James Grahame 264 

Sacred Spot, A Anon 365 

Sacrifice of Abraham, The A'. P. Willis 63 

Saddest Thoughts Make Sweetest Song 

G. TT. Warder 213 

Safe in Jesus ilattie Gergen 424 

Saintly Sympathy Anon 245 

Saloons Can not Run Without 6oys..C'. Huddock 278 

Sanctiticatioa Anon 416 

Satisfied Anon 496 

Save, Lord, or We Perish Jiattie Gergen 345 

Sarior. PiliX Me Edward Hopper 495 

Say Something Good Riley 208 

Sayings and Doings Anon 233 

Scatter Seels of Kindness Mm Albert Smith 163 

Scene in Gethsemane .V. P. Willis €4 

Scotch Songs Tennyson 200 

Scuiptor-Boy. The 11". C. Doane 233 

Sea in Calm. The B. W. Procter 122 

Seasons. The C. D. Barrett 127 

Secret of a Happy Day, The Uaiergal 441 

Seed of Song, The Havergal 535 

Seeds Anon 21G 

Seeing Heart. A Havergal 326 

Seek and Ye Shall Find ilattie Gergen 547 

Selection from Endymlon John Keats 195 

Selections from Psalms XXXVII .4non 396 

Selling the Baby Ada Carleton 567 

September. George Arnold 133 

Sermon in Rhyme. A Anon 208 

Sermon in Verse, A. Anon 173 

Service Anon 442 

Service of Smiles. The W. C. Martin 210 

Service Sweet. A. J. F. Carter 420 

Sex ton, The Park Benjamin 312 

Shall We Find Them at the Portals ?..7. Rankin 189 

Shared Lucy Larrom 222 

She is not Dead But Sleepeth..ifrs. M. Crawford 307 

Shenandoah River, The Anna K. Thomas 321 

Sheridan's Ride Thomas B. Read 150 

Shine Just Where You Are Anon 188 

Signs of God. The Willis G. Clark 408 

Signs of Rain Edicard Jenner 583 

Silent Shades of Evening C. C. Cox 247 

Silent Village. The Emily D. Thorpe 314 

Silver Lining. The _ Anon 170 

Simple Trust Madame Guyon 420 

Sing Me a Song. Sweet Birds Mary F. Beets 108 

Singing Birds Fly Lowest Anon 205 

Sinner's Doom. The 0. F. Linn 341 

Sin's Slavery Whittier 331 

Slighted Lover. The Tennyson 87 

Small Beginnings Charles Mackay 194 

Snow-Bound Whittier 95 

Snow-storm. The Emerson 101 

Snowed Under Ella W. Wilcox 248 

So Let Me Live Charles E. Orr 517 

Sojourners Anon 226 

Soldier's Rest. The Sir Walter Scott 152 

Soldier's Wife. The Anon 257 

Solitary Way. The Anon 448 

So* mon and the Bees John G. Saxe 60 

Some Blessed Day W. W. Titley 515 

Some Mother's Child Anon 534 

Somebody Cares Anon 453 

Somebody's Darling Marie R. LaCoste 155 

Somebody's Mother -dnon 557 

Somehow or Other Anon 190 

Something Sure Anon 190 

Sometime May Riley Smith 452 

Song -fohn Bunyan 341 

Song for the Hearth and Home, A W. Duryen 31 

Song of Steam. The Geor^f W. Cntter 267 

Song of Summer-Time ./. H. Ashabrantter 131 

gone of the Decanter Anon 5S8 

Song of the Shirt. The Thomas Hood 270 

Songs of the Past and Present C. W. Naylor 345 

Songs that Mother Sung. The Anon 41 

Soncs T^nsung Ernest McGaffay 191 

Sonmts LoireU 75 

Soul The Richard Henry Dana 354 

Soul-Cripple City ». S. Warner 37R 

Souilpss Prayer. The A»"" 393 

Sound of the Sea. The LongfeUnu- 123 

Source of All Anon 405 

Sowing and Reaping Adelaide A. Procter 457 

Speak Gently Anon 37 



Speak Gently Anon 222 

Speak Gently David Bates 163 

Speak the Good Word Anon 209 

Speed Away Anon 348 

Spirit of Poetry, The Longfellow 166 

Spirit Rosebud. The Francis 8. timith 305 

Spring John Burroughs 127 

Spring Ebenezer Elliott 127 

Spring Anna A'. Thomas 128 

Spring Down in the Dell, The J. W. Overall 48 

"Stand Like an Anvil" George W. Doane 168 

Stanzas on Freedom Lowell 147 

Star Points Anon 361 

Star Spangled Banner, The Francis Scott Key 142 

Starless Crown, The Anon 530 

Stepping in Your Steps Anon 211 

Still Waters W. C. Richards 415 

Still with Me Uoratius Zfonar 490 

Storm and the Trial. The Lorain McLain 458 

Storm at Night on Lake Leman Lord Byron 102 

Stormy Petrel, The B. W. Procter 122 

Strength W. F. Field 279 

Strength for Today Anon 173 

Strength vs. Fainting Gloria G. Hunuex 454 

Submission Julia H. Thayer 181 

Submission and Rest Anon 499 

Success Anon 208 

Summer Evening Bryant 131 

Summer Night Sounds Louise P. Palmitcr 130 

Summer Twilight Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford 131 

Sun-Clouds Anon 374 

Sunbeam, The Lucy Larcom 566 

Sunbeams Anna K. Thomas 120 

Sunday Morning, A Charles E. Orr 357 

Sunset O. F. Linn 96 

Snnset Sarah B. Sawyer 98 

Sunset ...Percy Bysshe Shelley 104 

Sunset and Twilight Mrs. M. Crawford 100 

Sunset on Puget Sound Ella Higginson 123 

Sunset on the Blackhawk..,-/:'(.sie E. Egermeier 105 
Sunset Thought of Heaven. A.Mrs. M. Crawford 513 

Sunrise in the Southwest H. F. O'Beirne 110 

Sunshine Be.vond Martha SUepard Lippinrott 102 

Sweet Story of the Angels Isabel C. Byrum 407 

Sweet Hour of Prayer Clara M. Brooks 491 

Sweet Refuge, A Anon 495 

Sweet Rest to Come Anon 541 

Sweetly Resting Mary D. James 423 

Sweets of Woman's Life Anon 254 



Table Manners in Rhyme Anon 560 

Take Care Alice Cary 564 

Take Me. Break Me, Make.... Co»Tie Montgomery 504 

Tauler Whittier 350 

Teacher's Dream, The W. H. Venable 172 

Tell Her So Anon 38 

Tell Jesus Anon 439 

Tell on Switzerland J. S. Knoivles 141 

Tell Your Mother that You Love Her 

Gertrude A. Flory 551 

Temperance Plea. A Elizabeth Crosby 283 

*'Tempted and Tried" Havergal 456 

Thanatopsis Bryant 247 

Thank Him Margaret E. Songster 207 

Thankfulness Adelaide A. Procter 418 

Thanksgiving Phoebe Cary 45 

Thanksgiving Havergal 409 

Thanksgiving Emma Jones 403 

Thanksgiving. A Lucy Larrom 407 

Thanksgiving Rest Hattie Whitney 40 

Then and Now Mary M'Guire 312 

There Come the Boys .4non 554 

There is a God J?. L. Austin 410 

There is No Death J. L. MrCreary 289 

There's a Way Georgia C. EUoitt 419 

They Never Quite Leave Vs.. ..Margaret Sanoster 80 

"They Say" Ella Wheeler Wilcox 177 

Thunder, The Anna K. Thomas 517 

Thunder Storm, The Tennyson 103 

Thing Left Undone, The Margaret Sangster 209 

Things that Never Die Dickens 210 

Things Which are Behind, The Havergal 468 

Thinking. Lord, of Thee C, E. Orr 521 

This Same Jesus Havergal 404 

Those We Love the Best Anon 163 

Thou Lovest Not Me Anon 543 

Thought Christopher P. Cranrh 217 

Thoughts Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford 169 

Thoughts for the New Year Isabel C. Byrum 450 

Thou'rt All the World to Me Gerald Massey 90 



606 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



Three Bugs Alice Cary 533 

Through Nature tu Goil Urs. A. P. Jaii'is 521 

Through Peace to Light Adelaide Procter 486 

Throwing Ink at the Devil Daniel S. Warner 3S5 

Thy Mother Kate Hogan 573 

Thy Will be Done Anon 488 

"Thy Will be Done" Anon 503 

Thy Will be Done Clara M. Brooks 340 

Tide of Sin, The O. D. Oldham 535 

Time Anna K. Thomas 219 

Time: An Ode Tennyson 244 

Time for Prayer, The Anon 495 

Tired Mothers Alary Riiiley Smith 1U2 

Tired Wife, The Josephine Pollard 2'J 

" 'Tis 1 ; be Not Afraid" Amos E. Flint 4tU 

'Tis so Sweet Clara M. Brooks 428 

Titanic. The WiWur D. Nesbitt 152 

To a Battle-Ship a. H. M. Byera 150 

To a Grandmother Bernard Barton 27 

To a Mountain Bluebell Uary Baird Finch 110 

To a Skeleton Anon 240 

To a Streamlet H. R. Oeil 99 

To a Water-Fowl Bryant 111 

To be or Not to be... r. W. Carmichael 238 

To Know All is to Forgive AlL.A'ijoii Waterman lfi4 

To Labor is to Pray Frances 8. Osgood 205 

To My Dear Sidney Daniel S. Warner 394 

To My Departed Father Mrs. D. Jaqnes 294 

To My Husband Mrs. Sarah A. Thomas 88 

To My Mother Anon 305 

To Myself Paul Fleming 43S 

To the Alien D. S. Warner 392 

To the Dandelion Loicell 107 

To the Mourner D. W. Phelps 293 

To the Ocean c. W. Xaylor 123 

To the Trumiiet Family Jennie Mast 337 

To Thine Own Self be True Pakenham Beatty 200 

Today Thomas Carlyle 170 

Today is Yours Anon 173 

Toil Charles W. Stevenson 264 

Toll's Grandeur James P. Broomfield 205 

Tomorrow Anon 168 

Tone of the Voice, The .....Anon 200 

Tongue, The Anon 210 

Too Late J. Grant Anderson 544 

Too Late Anon 213 

"Too Many of We" .lno»i 35 

Tribute, A Emily C. Judson 540 

Tribute to Genius and Labor Epes Sargent 261 

Trifles Margaret E. Songster 25 

True Aristocrat, The .4non 262 

True Gladness .inon 174 

True Uero, A c. H. Dewey 55T 

True Love Better than Gold Anon 85 

True Nobllit.y Charles Swain 262 

Trust [saac Williams 425 

Trust in God and Do the Right....A'orraaii M'Leod 436 

Trust Thy Father Still Anon 465 

Trusting Eliza L. Martyn 502 

Truth ..._ Anon 338 

Truth Anon 437 

Truth Daniel S. Warner 389 

Truth and Freedom William D. Gallagher 198 

Turning the Flowers .4)!0)! 191 

Twenty-Third Psalm Georgia C. Elliott 424 

Two Glasses, The .-Inoii 277 

Two Little Hands Darnel S. Warner 305 

Two Lovcrs._ George EUott 2.34 

Two Offerings Anon 566 

Two Pennies Anon 527 

Two Pennies, The Anon 109 

Two Verdicts Arthur Lewis Tubbs 281 

U 

Unanswered Yet? Anon 460 

UnchanKing Word, The c. W. Xaglor 448 

Under His Eye ,lno» 436 

Under the Leaves Anon 170 

Unending Life on Earth Undesirable 

Soame Jenyns 228 

Unfailini: Power Anon 469 

Unfruitful Tree, The Jennie Mast 347 

Unwritten Poems Anon 198 

Unwritten Song, The A. R. Fulton 163 

V 

Vague Hopes of Nature Alexander Pope 2,36 

Valentine, A Poe 581 

Valley of Best. The -Anon 313 



Vaudois Teacher, The Whittier 338 

Verses on the Twenty-Third Psalm....G. Q. Coplin 430 

Vesper Hymn Eliza Scnddcr 494 

"Vessels of Mercy, Prepared Unto Glory." 

Havergal 52S 

Village Blacksmith, The Longfellow 266 

Virtue Immortal George Herbert 170 

Voices of Nature .-inna K. Thomas 117 

W 

Wait A. L. Bolmes 218 

Waiting and Watching for Me.. ..Marianne Hearn 506 

Walk by Moonlight, The .i-una K. Thomas 522 

Walking on the Wall Strickland Oillilan 486 

Wanderer, The Anon 202 

Wanted Nellie Linn 275 

Wanted /. J. A. Miller 277 

Wanted ; A Boy Anon 554 

Wiuitc.l ; A Boy Mary B. Reese 558 

Warning to Ministers, A George L. Taylor 587 

Washington Eliza Cook 145 

Watch and Pray Jennie Mast 489 

Watch Thou in All Things Anon 439 

Water That Has Passed, The Anon 180 

We All Might Do Good Anon 172 

We Are Growing Old Mrs. Lydia Smith 228 

We Call Them Dead Lizzie Clark Hardy 289 

We Shall Know Eeach Other There Anon 516 

Weariness „ Anna K. Thomas 521 

Web of Life, The Anon 239 

We'll Understand Anon 460 

We've Been Praying for You Mary Wingate 396 

What Are the Children Sayin,^? Anon 530 

What Became of a Lie Mrs. M. A. Kidder 568 

What Faith Does B. E. Warren 476 

\A'hat I Live for G. Linnaeus Banks 234 

What I Would Ask for Tliee....James A. Garfield 35T 

What Is Charity? .inon 470 

What Is 
What Is 
What Is 
What is 
What is 
What is 
What is 



Good? John Boyle O'Reilly 193 

Heaven? Anon 372 

Lite? Anon 240 

Life? T. L. Bailey 216 

Lite? Fred Lyster 190 

Peace! R. L. Austin 479 

Prayer? C. W. Xaylor 492 

What is the Time to Trust? A. B. Simpson 442 

What Is Time? Anon 174 

What Makes Home? Anon 39 

"What Matter?" U. W. Teller 541 

What of Today? A7wn 528 

\\hat Shall We Wish? Clara M. Brooks 540 

What Then? (To the Believer.) .Inon 372 

What Then? (To the Unbeliever.) Anon 372 

Wlien? Susan Coolidge 332 

When I Have Time Anon 200 

Wlien I Was a Boy Anon 43 

When Mother Pra.ved Melville Miller 44 

When the Cows Come Home Man/ E. Kealy 264 

Wlien the Reapers Come Houie Jennie Mast 533 

Wiien Thy Way Seems Darkest Anon 448 

When We Were Bo.vs Anon 558 

Where Are the Dead? 0. P. Linn 506 

Where Are You Going to Stop? Anon 434 

Where Ever Thou Art //. E. McColhim 82 

Where Girls Can not Go Anon 276 

Wliere is Homo? Anon 27 

Where? Oh! Where? Samuel Finley 83 

M'here's Mother Anon 578 

Which Loved Best Anon 562 

Which Road ? .4non 252 

Which Shall Go? Mrs. Elisabeth Kinney 303 

Whither ? Anon 208 

Who Are Wi.se? B. C. Hoyt 332 

Who is My Brother? Anon 492 

Wlio Is .My Neighbor? Anon 211 

Wlio of Us? S. C. Allen 224 

Wlio Sliall be Able to Stand? Jennie Mast 395 

Wlio Shall Roll Away the Stone? Anon 451 

Who Trusts in God's Unchanging Love Anon 449 

Who Will Care? Anon 246 

Who Will Suffer With Jesus? D. S. Warner 532 

Wliom Having not .Seen, We Love Anon 519 

AVhose Boy? Anon 283 

Whose Fault? Emma P. Seahury 39 

Why Do We Wait? Anon 174 

Why Weepest Thou? Anon 443 

Wife, The Elizabeth Oakes Smith 256 

Wife to Her Husband, The Anon 34 

Will Jesus Finil Us Watching?..../?a«nj/ Crosby 434 

Will of God, The Robert Rothman 493 

Willing Slaves. The Lowell 284 



INDEX OF TITLES. 



GOT 



Will You Love Me When I'm Old? Anon 77 

Wind and Sea Bayard Taylor 122 

Wind of the West iriiiiom Reed Dunroy 100 

Winds, The Bryant 11'9 

Winter John H. Bryant 136 

Winter Hours Edward iV. Lydick 572 

Winter's Charms Elsie E. Egermeier 137 

Wise Choice. The Lorain McLain 162 

Wishing and Working Willis Warren Kent 577 

Without You Henry Dumont 84 

Wolves, The Anon 271 

Woman G. W. Warder 2B5 

Woman's Question, A Anon 80 

Woman's Question, A Browninff 70 

Woman's Voice Edwin Arnold 257 

Women at the Cross T. E. Wilson 25:i 

Women's Eights Anon 254 

Wondrous Cross, The Isaac Watts 401 

Woodman, Spare that Tree George P. Morris 95 

Word, A Adelaide A. Procter 213 

Word that Counts, The Anon 187 

Words Anon 193 

Words I Did Dot Say, The Anon 205 



Words of Strength Friedrich Schiller 

Words that Pain C E. Fisher 

Working Man's Song Chas. UacKay 

World and I, The Xellie Olson 

World In Sin, The B. E. Warren 

Worldling and the Saint, The Nellie Olson 

Worship Llewellyn A. Morrison 

Wreck and Death at Sea. A Felicia Hemans 

Written in Richmond Church-yard, Yorkshire 

Berber' Knowles 

Yankee Boy, The John. Pierpont 

Year. The Anna K. Thomas 

Year Untried, A R. M. Offord 

Yet not Forsaken Emma /. Coston 

Yet Will I Rejoice and Praise Sim. ...Jennie Mast 

Y'osemite Mrs, Julia C. Aldrirh 

Young American, The Alexander Hill Everett 

Your Cross Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

Y'our Mission Ellen M. H. Gates 

Y'our Mission Daniel March 

Your Work A.non 



173 
577 
202 
227 
540 
387 
402 
289 

231 



555 
573 
447 
532 
388 
120 
141 
443 
267 
5.10 
440 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



013 979 873 9 / 



